


Two Butterflies Down

by hi_im_dazey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Birthday, Bittersweet Ending, Boarding School, Canon divergent and compliant at the same time because of the timeline alterations and other stuff, Coffee, Dean Winchester Has Nightmares, Family, Gen, I will add more tags as I add more chapters, Impala, John is bad at being sad and proud, John is proud, John is sad, John is still John, Light Angst, Magicians, Men of Letters, Pre-pilot, Protective Dean Winchester, Reference to The Crow, Reference to The Fantastic Four, Reference to Wolf, Road Trips, Sam Winchester Has Magic, Scary Clowns, Stimming, Telekinetic Sam Winchester, This is an AU where Henry lives and returns to his family the next morning, This is an AU where Mary does not hear the Baby Monitor, Two small changes in the past, brother bonding, post-Pilot, young Sam and Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-01-16 13:22:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 70,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18522400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hi_im_dazey/pseuds/hi_im_dazey
Summary: A different path for the Winchester and Campbell families when two changes are made in the past.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This work spans from 1958 to about 2007.

Normal, Illinois. 1958

+++

“I’ll see you first thing in the morning,” Henry wound the music box. _As Time Goes By_ played slow and tinkling, working its soothing magic.

John watched through sleep heavy eyes, as his father left the room. As he closed the door, he said,

“Good night, Son.”

John was sound asleep before his fathers’ footsteps had reached the downstairs landing.

+++

When John woke up in the morning he was excited because it was Saturday. His Pop had promised to come and see him play in his tee-ball game. John had a foggy grasp on what Pops did for work, but he knew whatever it was, it sometimes worried his Mom. Often, it also kept his father busy on weekends, but he had promised not to miss today. Normally he found the fielding part of tee-ball boring, he liked hitting the ball with the bat the best. But because Pops would be there today, the whole thing would be fun. And soon he could play REAL baseball with a pitcher and everything.

He jumped up, ran to the bathroom, washed his face and hands. Then he brushed his hair and teeth. He ran back to his bedroom put on his uniform and grabbed his bat and glove. After he’d laced up his sneakers he ran downstairs to the kitchen and through to the breakfast nook. Breakfast was on the table but neither of his parents were there. He thought nothing of it, sat down and began piling a plate with eggs, bacon, and toast. A glass of juice was placed down next to him and his mother’s gentle voice told him to slow down as she came into the breakfast nook.

His father had still not appeared by the time he’d finished eating. He started to make impatient noises and tap his toe against the table. He looked at the clock. He sighed. Unable to stand the slow march of time any more than any other four-year-old. He finally raised his voice and aimed it towards the living room.

“POPS!!! COME ON IT’S TIME TO GO!”

“John! Lower your voice. We are not animals. Get up and go to him and speak in a normal volume.” his mother said.

“Sorry Mom.” John got up and walked into the living room, where he expected to find his dad hiding behind a newspaper.

He was not disappointed. Henry lowered the paper and winked at his overly excited son. Henry was exhausted from last night’s excitement. While he spent more time on research than anything else, he had been useful to the older members of the order when dealing with Abaddon the previous evening. Josie was recovering well. It was lucky they found an incantation… strangely miraculous in fact… that exorcized and banished the Knight of Hell. The weirdest part had been Henry had poured over that book just days before and had never seen that loose page tucked into the back. The paper was slightly different too. It was very strange. But strange things were bread and butter for Men of Letters. He looked forward to spending some time examining the ritual in more detail and adding it to the catalogue. After all, Monday he would start his life’s work in earnest as a full-fledged Man of Letters. It was a calling; a legacy passed down through countless generations of Winchesters. One day, John would join him. He felt a surge of pride as he looked at his son’s crooked baseball cap and shining smile.

“Okay, son, let your old man get his keys. Do you have all your gear?”

“Yep!”

“John!” Millie called from the hallway.

“Sorry. Yes, sir.” John corrected himself. His mother hated when he wasn’t respectful and polite.

As they left Henry gave Millie a kiss and told her they’d be back in a few hours.

Millie shook her head, with a sigh and a smile, as she closed the door. What was it going to take to get some manners and discipline into that boy?

+++

1960

After a year and a half, it finally happened. Henry had achieved his life’s goal. He was going to be transferred to The Bunker. The largest collection of knowledge and artifacts in the world would now be his daily work. He found a house for them in Lawrence, which, granted, was a bit far from the bunker. Since he’d be using a portal spell to commute the four-hour drive between them would not be an inconvenience. Rather, it would provide a nice, 224-mile, buffer of safety between any mishaps at work and his family. The house was a good deal, the town was small enough to be friendly, but big enough to be entertaining. A few of his fellow bunker assignees also lived there and had suggested it to him.

John was upset to leave his home. He threw a bit of a fit, but he was six; at first, it seemed like a normal sort of tantrum for a six-year-old. Until right before the movers came and John seemed determined to not let them take his furniture or boxes to the truck. Millie and Henry shared a worried look. They had not been aware how staunchly resistant to any change their little boy was growing. They tried to convince him it would be a new adventure, and he’d meet lots of new people, and he could write letters to his friends in Normal. They tried to bribe him with promises that he could have new toys because his new room would be larger and better, and the house had a swimming pool!

Eventually John gave in, but the entire trip to Kansas was commemorated with his pouting face and sullen pain at losing the only home he’d known. Henry was sure he’d get over it, but Millie was so in tune with her small son, she worried this was a scar he’d carry on his soul. She empathized with him, but also felt that it was her duty as his mother to encourage him to face it like a man.

They had broken the drive up into two days, not wanting to spend a seven hour stretch all at once on the road. By the time they stopped at a motel in Macon, Missouri, John still hadn’t said a word or moved from glowering out the window at the world passing him by. They let him have his sulk until it was time to go eat supper. He refused to move from where he sat, arms crossed and scowling, on the bed. Millie declared enough was enough and it was time for him to at least act like a man. Henry told him he would either drop the pouting or get such a spanking he’d find tomorrow’s drive very hard to sit through.

John knew this was a threat to be taken seriously, so he spent the rest of the trip doing as asked. He still refused to smile or talk or show any interest in the adventure of the move. He had been happy in Normal, and he felt like he would do anything to get back there. He just wanted everything to be like it was.

John Winchester hated change.

+++

By the end of the summer, John had started to smile again. It wasn’t so bad here. He had his family still, and all his stuff had made the trip safely. Eventually he got used to the different view out his bedroom window at night. He liked having a swimming pool, and Lawrence seemed like a nice town. He’d spent time exploring it. He’d found that the old man who ran the drug store was always good for a piece of candy. The soda jerk at the fountain remembered him and always had a cherry soda ready for him when his mom brought him in to wait while she did their shopping next door.

Pops had started telling him about his work a little bit. John understood now that he was expected to follow in Henry’s footsteps. Henry had made it sound so interesting and magical, and John was eager to hear more. Being told he was a “Legacy of the Men of Letters” sent a thrill down his spine. It sounded like being a super hero. He knew he’d be attending public school until he was 9 years old and then he’d be sent off to a special school to prepare for his life as a Man of Letters. He also knew he wasn’t supposed to speak of that to anyone.

It was the last week of summer break and he’d be starting at the local grade school the day after Labor Day. Mom had deposited him and a quarter for a cherry soda at the fountain in the drug store. He sat at the marble counter, his legs swinging off the stool as he slurped at the fizzy treat. It was Sunday and he still had on his church clothes, a short suit in navy serge, argyle socks, matching bow tie, and uncomfortable dress shoes. His hair tortured into neatness with Brylcreem. He was nursing the last scraps of his discontent, but pretty well resigned to what lay ahead. He wasn’t happy, exactly, but he felt like he could be happy again.

Then, suddenly, he was happier than he had ever been in his entire life. A cloud of frizzy blonde hair and a sweet delicate face had appeared, sitting next to him at the counter. She was wearing a pair of scuffed up sneakers, overalls and a striped tee-shirt. Her left hand had a scratch across the back and there was a bruise on her arm, he noticed, as she plunked down a quarter and said in the sweetest, softest voice John had ever heard,

“Donnie may I please have a strawberry soda?”

“Right away, Mary.” the soda jerk answered with a wink.

Mary watched Donnie fill a glass with syrup and soda water for her. John watched her. He was entranced, he’d never noticed how nice girls were before.

All thoughts of missing Normal were banished.

Normal was the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

Mary wasn’t in Normal, she was in Lawrence.

Lawrence was heaven.

John continued to stare at her.

Mary suddenly swung around to face him; her big blue eyes lit with indignation, all sweetness was gone from her voice,

“What are you lookin’ at, poindexter?” she said with a sneer.

Before John could think of anything to say, she jumped down off the stool, grabbed her soda and took it to one of the tables, sitting with her back to John.

John continued to sneak peeks at her. He noticed that there was some mud on the cuff of her overall’s legs, and something that looked like a little red leaf stuck in her wild golden curls. On her right wrist she wore a chain with delicate dangling charms. That and the candy necklace he’d seen when she’d been at the counter were the only jewelry she had on. He watched her, memorizing everything he could. Unaware that she was growing more and more annoyed, as if she could feel him staring.

She finished her soda, stood up, and walked back over to him. He smiled and got off his stool. He extended his hand to offer a handshake. Ready to introduce himself, properly, like the gentleman his mother taught him to be.

She then said,

“QUIT,”

she balled her hand into a fist, thumb out, middle knuckle extended slightly,

“STARING,”

she pulled back her well-trained little fist,

“AT ME!”

the punch landed with sharp, precise pain on his upper arm.

Then, with a toss of her poufy blonde head, she left the shop. She clearly thought nothing of punching boys. She had no fear.

His arm hurt.

John was in love.

+++

Donnie smiled to himself. Working as a soda jerk was a great gig for a Cupid in the nineteen-sixties, and he’d just taken care of a BIG item on the cherub to-do list. He sighed contentedly as he thought of the path true love would take for John and Mary. Then he felt a little bad about the punch to the arm. He gave John a free refill.

+++

Mary Campbell hated school.

Okay, well, not the “school” parts. She liked to read and draw. She also liked doing math. Homework was a cake walk for her. She liked sports and playing on the jungle gym. She was strong and agile and smart and patient. No, the “school” parts were fine.

She did not like the having to wear a dress part. She did not like hard, slippery-soled maryjanes that you could not really run in. She did not like knee socks or tights that got stained with tanbark dust and filled with itchy splinters from it when you fell off the monkey bars. She especially did not like having to scrape her hair back into a stupid ponytail and secure it with a dumb bow that matched her dress. She also did not like most of the other kids. Some of them because they were bullies, and she hated bullies. Some of them because they treated her like a freak because she did not act “girly” enough.

The ones she did like and gathered to her inner circle were the kids that got picked on. The kids who were “too smart for their own good”, or too uncoordinated to play sports. The boy who wasn’t “manly enough” for the other fellows, and the tomboys, like herself. She had a small family of little friends at school, they had forged a bond in kindergarten and were eager to start first grade together. She would protect them from everything. She knew if she had to, she’d protect the whole class from the “bad stuff,” but this chosen circle would be the priority. She knew about the “bad stuff” already. She knew she was tasked with protecting people who didn’t know. Her family had been hunters since forever. It was her birthright. She knew she wasn’t allowed to pick and choose who to save. But she still got to pick her friends.

Out of her 20 classmates she liked maybe 10 of them and considered 5 of those her friends. She did not, however have what you might call a “best” friend. Having a best friend meant sharing secrets, and her secrets were too big and scary. Her secrets were hers alone to bear. Her inner circle were held close because they needed the most protecting. She knew she could not open up to any of them or burden them with the real world, so she looked after them. But she kept her own counsel.

On the first day of first grade her mother had spent 20 minutes working through the tangled mass of her hair to pull it back into a ponytail. The dress was new and itchy at the seams. Her knee socks seemed to be actively fighting her attempts to keep them at her knees. Her shoes were new, shiny and so stiff she could barely walk in them. But deep under all this superficial discomfort was the fear that the boy she’d punched at the drug store might be in her class. It was a small town, there was only one grade school, and one class per grade. So, if he was her age, chances were, he’d be in her class.

She felt bad because she hated bullies, and she had never, ever in her life hurt someone for basically no reason. She’d had fights and dust-ups, but these had been defensive, either of herself, or of another. Not attacking innocent humans was the first lesson she’d learned when she’d started learning how to fight. Protect the people, save them. You hunt monsters, never turn your skills against an innocent human. She did not know why that boy’s attention had moved her to lash out and she felt ashamed to her core over it.

So what if that goofy-faced boy had stared at her? He hadn’t hurt her, or touched her, or even said anything to her. If her dad found out she’d hit this boy she’d catch it, for sure. She wasn’t even allowed the release of confessing her sin to get it out of her system. There was nothing her father would respond with that she did not already know. She could already hear his words in her head, because they’d been hammered into her since she was four years old. Protect the innocent, guard them, it’s your duty as a hunter.

When she walked to school, one of her friends joined her. Katie was just as much of a tomboy as Mary, and smart as a whip. If Mary had normal secrets for a girl her age, she knew Katie would be the one she’d share them with. One day she’d learn how to have a best friend and keep that secret life hidden, but first grade was not that time.

“Morning Mary.” Katie said with breathless excitement as she fell into step.

“Hi Katie.” Mary slowed her pace a little, she knew she walked too fast for most of her friends.

“Mary, someone told me you punched the new boy!” Katie’s smile was making it worse. Mary did not want to be admired for senseless violence. She did not want to be admired for righteous violence either. You didn’t hunt for gratitude, you did it because it was the right thing to do.

“Yah, I guess I did.” Mary admitted in a tone that quelled Katie’s excitement.

“Why?” Katie picked up on her friends’ distress.

Mary thought about this. She still wasn’t sure why she’d channeled her sudden rush of feelings into her fist. She shrugged and said,

“You know, Katie, I’m not really sure why. I just did. I suddenly felt like he just needed punching.”

Katie giggled at this. She often felt boys needed punching. She was kind of in awe of Mary for actually doing it.

Mary took a deep breath before asking Katie,

“Do you think he’ll be in our class?”

“Oh, I know he will.” her aunt taught the kindergartners, so Katie was a reliable source in such matters.

Mary’s face flushed with shame as she realized she was going to have to apologize to the goofy-looking boy, and she was going to have to do it today.

+++

By the time they had gotten to the schoolyard, Mary had bucked up her resolve. The apology needed doing, and she believed the sooner it was over the better. Out of the crowd of children on the playground she picked him out almost instantly. This was strange, because he looked much different than he had on Sunday. She’d tuned her eye to look for a boy wearing a suit. She’d forgotten it had been Sunday and hadn’t put together the thought that he might have just come from church, until now.

Her family believed in things they could see, touch and, if need be, kill. Faith wasn’t missing entirely from her life, but Samuel Campbell saw no reason to go to church unless he needed holy water, rosaries, or to discuss an exorcism with the local priest. The bible was source of lore and churches were part of the arsenal, but a hunter’s time was better spent hunting. Mary’s Sundays were her own, so she didn’t always remember that normal people dressed up on Sundays.

His hair was sticking straight up in every direction. He was wearing a green tee shirt and brown corduroy pants. He had on sneakers and a dark brown jacket. He looked absolutely nothing like he had at the soda counter. That her eye went to him first, kind of made the urge to punch him re-surface. She walked right up to him, with a boldness she did not entirely feel, and placed herself firmly between him and the boys he was discussing the possibility of a baseball game at recess with. She extended her hand and said,

“I’m sorry I punched you.”

His face lit up… she had sought him out and was speaking to him… her hand was out… he was going to get to touch her. Her words barely registered.

“My name is John Winchester,” he grabbed her hand and shook it with a firmness that surprised her.

She had expected some acknowledgement of her apology, forgiveness, maybe. Even a refusal of it. She was confused by his reaction. She dropped his hand, said,

“Okay.” then walked away. She’d done her part, if he didn’t know how to respond to an apology, she wasn’t here to teach him.

He watched her walk away. He realized as she disappeared into the school building that he was going to probably be ribbed by these kids. He was sure he had just been labeled as the boy who got beat up by a girl. But to his amazement both boys just looked after her in awe, as well.

“Wow, what are you?” the one named Dave turned to him, “I have never seen Mary Campbell apologize for beating someone up before.”

“Yah, that was weird.” said Christopher.

They looked at him admiringly and all three of them walked into the school together.

+++


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Mary learn things about each other.

Chapter Two

Lawrence, Kansas. 1963

+++

Throughout the next three years of school, holidays and summers, John still melted inside whenever he was lucky enough to be anywhere near Mary.

Mary, for her part, still treated him like he was annoying and a little goofy. She’d talk to him when she had to, as he’d shown no tendency to be a bully. She still occasionally had feelings she didn’t understand when she saw him, and these feelings still annoyed her. But she no longer felt the urge to punch him, so she supposed that was an improvement. She thought about him more often that she probably should. She didn’t count him as among her friends, but since he wasn’t mean to anyone, and seemed to leave her alone when she didn’t want company, he drifted into a subset of people she would protect because she wanted to, not because she had to.

She’d gotten taller, she was now the tallest girl in the class. Amongst her classmates she felt like a dress with gangly limbs poking out. Her reputation did most of the work for her at keeping the bullies at bay. The fact that she continued to show up at school with mystery bruises and scrapes, and an occasional black eye or cut lip, just added to her reputation as someone not to mess with.

She’d learned how to confide the right sort of secrets and now considered Katie to be her best friend. They talked about what they wanted to do when they grew up. Mary sharing that she wanted to be a wife and mother. Katie hoped to be a doctor. They talked about boys, not boys at the school, those boys were gross and irritating. They talked about boys from TV shows and Movies. It may have escaped Mary’s notice, but it did not escape Katie that Mary’s crushes were on men who looked an awful lot like John Winchester. Mary might think John annoyed her, but Katie could see the truth.

+++

John grew anxious as third grade drew closer to its end. He couldn’t really say goodbye to his friends properly, not without some sort of explanation. He had to think of something though because he’d be back over holidays and summers and see them again. Just disappearing wasn’t an option. For once he wished he could confide his secret in someone. He wanted the closeness of a friend who knew the truth about him. Eventually, he settled on just telling everyone he was being sent to a boarding school. It was close enough to the truth that he wouldn’t easily catch himself out. If you had to lie, keep it simple. This was one of the tenets of the Men of Letters he was already well schooled in. He’d leave stuff out rather than make stuff up. He wondered if he should make a goodbye to Mary or just rely on the schoolyard gossip to reach her. He hoped she would miss him, but he was scared of her reaction. If she got sad, it would break his heart, because the last thing he ever wanted to do was to make Mary sad. But if she did not care, that would break his heart just the same.

He was sitting on the bleachers behind the baseball diamond, thinking about whether his parents might allow him to have a going away pool party before he left. That seemed like a good way to tell everyone at once and keep the lie simple and uniform. He looked up and saw someone walking towards the fencing opposite where he sat. He realized it was Mary. He fought the urge to call out to her. It was a familiar urge. He felt it every time he saw her. She didn’t seem to notice him. Suddenly she launched herself up and over the fencing. He sat up, his interest piqued. Why was she leaving the schoolyard during lunch hour? It had never occurred to John that this might even be allowed. He thought for a moment, and realized it probably wasn’t, or Mary would not have left how she did. The fencing was the sort where reddish-brown painted slats of wood had been fitted through chain link. It was about 5 feet tall. He climbed up to the top of the bleachers to see if he could tell which direction she was going. She turned the corner to come up the sidewalk behind where he was.  He got off the bleachers, went over to the fence and climbed it. He jumped over the top just as she was passing.

Landing on the sidewalk, he lost his balance. As he recovered, she reacted in one smooth motion, grabbing his arm and flipping him easily onto his back. Once she realized who it was, she released him and said.

“Sorry, you startled me.”

“It’s okay,” John gasped as he got up and brushed himself off. “Where are you going?”

Mary started walking again and John fell in to pace beside her. Mary noticed he didn’t seem to need her to slow down, so she didn’t.

“I, uhm,” Mary remembered one of the first thing Samuel had taught her, if you have to lie, keep it simple, “like to take a walk around the block at lunch.” She did like taking walks, but this specific walk had a purpose. She spent time on lunch hour each day patrolling around the school. So far, she’d not found anything, but it was good practice in observation. It kept her ready.

“Can I walk with you?” John asked. This was currently the longest conversation she’d let him have with her. He felt like pushing his luck might work in his favor today.

Mary stopped and looked at him, with a small smirk and a dimple showing.

“You already are,” she pointed out.

“Uh yah, I guess I mean,” John stammered a bit, “If you want me to leave, I will,” he said sheepishly.

Mary considered this. One of the things she noticed about John was his willingness to leave her alone when she wanted him to. She kind of liked him for that. He never pushed his presence on her. She tensed a little, really wishing she could tell him he could continue along with her. But if something did happen for once, he would be a distraction and something that needed rescuing. She was about to tell him he better head back, but then a small voice in her head popped up. _‘there’s never been any trouble on this block, and it might be nice to have company.’_

“No, it’s okay,” she was amazed to hear herself say, “you can come with me.”

They walked around the fencing in silence, mostly. John was afraid to speak. He was afraid he might say something so stupid she’d mock him or be sorry she’d agreed. Mary didn’t speak because she was focused on her surroundings and looking for anything she needed to worry about. John tried to maneuver to the street side so Mary was protected on the fence side of the sidewalk. Every time he succeeded in performing this gentlemanly requirement, he was amazed to find a few minutes later that she had somehow switched their positions without him noticing it.

He could tell she seemed, not really distracted, but focused on things besides himself. He wondered what she was looking for, but he was content just to be able to watch her and walk with her. If this was all she could give him, it was more than she ever had, and he’d take it. Maybe someday she’d trust him, and they could be friends.

+++

There was only a week left to the school year, but every day that week John waited for Mary to hop the fence. The first time he waited for her, she landed on the other side and waited. After a moment, she said,

“Are you coming with me?”

The rest of the week, it was just this thing they did every day at lunch. Mary Campbell and John Winchester walked around the school’s perimeter. They talked a little, and when they did it was nice. But they both found something amazing in each other, that they could be quiet together. It felt, to both, as if they had always done this.

The last day of school, as they were walking around the block, John took a deep breath, and made a brave move. He reached out and took Mary’s hand. She instinctively flinched. If he held her hand, and something attacked them she’d lose important time freeing herself and taking a stance. He felt this tensing and held his breath but kept his hold loose and easy for her to get out of if she wanted to. He could only look at his feet. He could feel what was written on his face, and he knew it was too much right now. Her hand relaxed, and then he felt her give his hand a little squeeze. He snuck a peek at her out of the corner of his eye. She was looking down and blushing a little. Then she released his hand and said, softly,

“I need my hands free, John. But, thank you.”

John thought this was a very confusing thing for her to say, but she gave him a very sweet smile when he looked at her. He could not help but smile back.

+++

John had convinced his parents to let him have a going away pool party. He had dutifully given his mother a list of his classmates to invite. Millie sat at the kitchen table, after John was in bed, with a box of party invitations and the list. When she got to the name Mary Campbell, she made a little gasp.

Henry, his head buried in the evening paper, and his free hand toying with a glass of scotch, looked at his wife,

“What’s wrong dear?”

“He wants to invite that Campbell girl,” she answered.

“That’s unsettling.” Henry put his paper down. His brow was furrowed.

“I should say so, I don’t know if I feel comfortable letting that hunter trash into my home,” Millie said, indignantly,

“I know, but she is one of his classmates. He wanted to invite all of them, yes?” Henry said, trying to find the path of least resistance, despite his own revulsion at letting Samuel Campbell’s hunter blood into his home. Hunters were occasionally useful tools for the Men of Letters, but one did not socialize with them.

“I suppose.” Millie sighed. “It’s just a pool party, I guess. It’s not like he wants to MARRY the thing.”

“Of course not,” Henry said with a snort of derision, “Our son is not an idiot.”

He may not have been an idiot; however, their son was a bit of an eavesdropper.

John was now in possession of two uncomfortable pieces of information.

First, Mary Campbell was a hunter. Suddenly, all her weird behavior, her strange demeanor, her mysterious injuries… they all made sense. The walks around the school weren’t walks, she was hunting, she was protecting the school.

Second, his parents hated her without ever meeting her because she was a hunter.

He left his perch on the upstairs landing and got back into his bed, his search for a glass of water abandoned.

He lay awake for a long time before falling into a fitful sleep.

+++

Two days later, his classmates started to call to R.S.V.P. Most of them, with very few exceptions, accepted their invitations. However, the voice John most wanted to hear back from did not respond that day.

+++

When the invitation arrived, Deanna Campbell was concerned. Rather than discuss the invitation with Mary, she kept it hidden until she was alone with Samuel, after Mary had gone to bed.

She put the invitation in front of him on his desk.

“We have a decision to make,” she said, gravely.

Samuel picked up the card, expecting some massive tragedy based off his wife’s tone. He saw that it was an invitation to Mary for some kid’s pool party and tossed it back on his desk. He looked at Deanna and said,

“So?”

“Look at who it’s from…”

Samuel picked it up again. This time, he read the whole thing.

“That son of a bitch. Winchester…” he was aggravated, Henry Winchester had approached him when the Winchesters had first moved to town, to discuss becoming one of the Men of Letter’s stable of hunters. After several minutes of listening to Henry dig a deep hole of condescension and insults he clearly could not tell he was offering up, Samuel had sent him packing. Telling him the Campbell line of hunters were older than the Men of Letters could even comprehend. At least once in a generation a Campbell had to tell a Man of Letters to take a flying leap, and that Samuel guessed it was his turn.

Samuel then explained that Henry was expected to get the hell off the Campbell’s porch or he’d find out what a ghost felt like when it was hit with a shotgun blast of rock salt.

Henry was a little obtuse when it came to social skills, but he knew when to leave a man’s porch.

“I’m not comfortable with her going to a Man of Letters house.” Deanna said. Men of Letters were snobby and condescending. She worried that they would say or do something… something Mary might react to. She’d either get her feelings hurt or get in a fight.

“I don’t like it either, but if this boy, John, is 9, this is probably a going away party for him. It’s the age when they send their spawn to that academy. We’ll probably never hear another peep about the kid. It’s likely they just invited the whole class to the party, and even if Henry Winchester is the most annoying, pedantic little jerk I have ever had to chase off my porch with a shotgun, he’s not dumb enough to do something stupid to my kid at a party.”

“Okay,” Deanna sighed, “I guess I will ask her if she wants to go in the morning.”

Their conversation drifted on to other topics, there was a werewolf pack attacking farms 50 miles south of town, Samuel was planning on going to clean them out. Strategy was discussed.

Soon, they were so engrossed in this, that Mary was able to sneak from the kitchen past her father’s office door and back upstairs to her bedroom. She had snuck downstairs to make a sandwich. She got hungry sometimes in the middle of the night and liked to have a snack. She set the paper-towel-wrapped, cold, leftover bacon sandwich down on her nightstand and got back under the covers.

She stared at the ceiling and thought about what she had overheard. Her Dad had mentioned the Men of Letters before, and never in a good way. She wasn’t sure what they did, but she got the impression they knew about the real world and handled it differently from hunters, and not in a way her Dad respected. She felt her heart break a little bit as the knowledge that John was meant to become one and would be leaving school settled into her. She allowed herself the momentary luxury of a cry, and fell asleep sad, her bacon sandwich left uneaten.

+++


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1963- 1983  
> The pool party, it's aftermath, and the night Sam is six months old.

Chapter Three

Lawrence, Kansas. 1963-1983

+++

The next day, Deanna called and accepted the invitation on Mary’s behalf. You could not have nailed John’s feet to the floor if you tried. He was going to get to see Mary before he left and that was all that mattered now.

+++

The day of the pool party was sunny and hot. Henry ran the grill, and Millie made side dishes, kept coolers full of sodas, and pitchers full of lemonade. Mary arrived a lot later than everyone else. So late that John had almost given in to the thought that she might not come after all. John had run inside to grab another package of napkins for his mom, He heard the doorbell while he was in the pantry, and was going to go open it, when he heard his father cross to the door. John watched from around the corner.

“Campbell.” Henry said, grimly, with a nod of minimal greeting.

“Winchester.” Disdain dripped from the tall, bald man as he greeted John’s father.

“And you must be Mary,” Henry said with a barely noticeable softening of tone.

Mr. Campbell put his hand on Mary’s shoulder to halt her progress into the house.

“I trust my daughter will be safe here. From everything. Including you.”

Henry bristled at this and John could feel an outburst brewing and Mary’s presence at his party slipping from his grasp. There was only one thing for it.

He rushed out towards the door, took Mary’s hand in greeting, shaking it, and saying

“Mary! I am so happy you could come to my party, I hope you brought your bathing suit! Come on!” He smiled up at Mary’s dad as Mary took the distraction for all it was worth and scurried past Henry into the house, following the sounds of splashes and laughter to the backyard.

“Hello sir, I’m John Winchester, it’s nice to meet you.” He stuck his hand out in greeting.

Samuel stared at John’s hand for a moment, like it was a dead fish. Then engulfed the boy’s hand in his own massive grasp and gave it a firm shake.

“Hello.” Samuel said in the same tone he’d used with Henry.

“Sir, if you’d like to come in for a while, we have plenty of food.” Unspoken but clearly communicated here was the concept that Samuel could keep an eye on his daughter and assure himself that she would be fine.

Samuel considered this. Decided against it. And said only, in a warning tone,

“Mary can take care of herself,” and then he left.

Henry and John watched him go, Henry muttered something under his breath, that John pretended not to hear, as he closed the door. But the tone and words rang in John’s ears.

_“Hunters are animals”_

+++

As the sun was setting and parents were starting to pick up their kids, John was sitting on the edge of the pool dangling his feet in the water. He was happy, full of food, and feeling exhausted, but in a good way. Mary came over and sat down next to him.

“So,” she said, matter-of-factly, “I know what you are now.”

John was shocked at first, but then he embraced this moment of honesty. Hadn’t he just been wishing he had someone to confide in? And here was Mary, the person he’d most wanted to confide in, laying their situation bare.

“Yah,” he admitted quietly, “I know what you are, too.”

Mary was surprised to hear this, she’d been prepared to come clean and tell him. That he already knew was both a surprise and a relief.

“So,” she said terrified of her next words, “I guess we can’t be friends, anymore.”

John digested the fact that Mary had come to consider him a friend, he’d never been sure if she was just tolerating him or not.

Mary waited for John’s response, holding her breath.

“Why? It’s our parent’s problem. Not ours.” He said, the relief on her face was all he needed to continue, “I like you Mary, a lot. I hope we’ll always be friends.”

“Me too, John.”

“May I write to you?” He asked. A gentleman always asks a lady’s permission to write.

“Will they let you?”

“I’d like to try. Will your folks let you get letters from me?” He asked.

“I don’t know, I hope so.”

“I promise I will try to write to you Mary, but we have to promise not to get mad at each other if we don’t get any letters. I will always try. You try too, Okay?”

“Promise.” She said.

They smiled at each other.

Samuel found them like that, their feet in the water, the sun setting behind their heads as they smiled at each other. The rage exploded out of him in a sharp commanding bark.

“Mary! Get your things… get in the car. NOW!”

She jumped up, her face dropping her smile like it would kill her.

“Yes, Sir!” she said. She grabbed her towel and ran to the house and out of John’s view.

Samuel glared at John. John fought the urge to look away or feel ashamed.

John Winchester glared right back at Samuel Campbell.

John Winchester stood up.

He walked over to the older man and said, through gritted teeth, with a forced politeness,

“Thank you for letting Mary come to my party, sir.” The tone of the “sir” was not respectful. John extended his hand, daring Samuel to shake it.

Samuel snorted at this impudent child who dared to challenge him, to disrespect him. Samuel turned on his heel and left without saying another word.

John Winchester would be off being brainwashed by that cult of librarians by this time Monday. He wasn’t worth any more thought.

Samuel Campbell would never have to deal with him again.

+++

After a few months at the academy, John realized they were never going to get a letter through to each other. John wasn’t even sure if the note he’d slipped into her mailbox, addressed only with her name, containing the address of his school and the room number he’d been assigned in the dorms, had gotten to her.

John spent some spare time trying to find some magical thing to use to contact her. He even tried his hand at making a set of messaging boxes work. He’d have gotten thrown out of the school if he’d been found out, this is a thing that required actual inborn magic to make. Men of Letters relied on knowledge, and when they had to do a spell they did, but they were learned men, not witches. John was only a student, he was there to study lore and magic, not work any spells, only full members could work spells. Some spells required either inborn magic or demonic power to work. Any hint of inborn magic was very bad, using demons as a source for power was worse.  John did not have either.

He eagerly awaited the holiday break. At least then he might catch a glimpse of her.

+++

He did not.

+++

Samuel Campbell had given John Winchester one more thought, after all.

That thought was that he would take his family on a trip over Christmas to nip things in the bud. It wouldn’t do for his now 10-year-old daughter to think it was okay to be friends with someone like that. Keeping her away from him seemed like the best plan to make her forget about that little snot.

So, he packed them up and off to Deanna’s parents’ house they went.

For spring break, they visited Samuel’s parents.

The following summer, he took the family on a camping trip that covered every contiguous state in the union. Well, camping and hunting. Mary was really starting to come into her own as a hunter. She made her first solo kills that summer. Samuel was very proud of her. She was fast, smart, and skilled.

Mary thought about John a lot. More so than when she had seen him every day. She had tried writing to him, even sneaking a note into his mailbox the day they were leaving for their camping trip. But she never got a response. She stuck to her promise not to get mad, but she still wished they could talk. Here was this person she did not have to lie to and she wasn’t allowed to talk to him. A friend like that, that you could really be yourself around, was something she felt the absence of in every aspect of her life.

The next winter break they went to Disneyland with a large group of Campbells. Cousins, aunts, uncles, all converging, family reunion style, on the magic kingdom.  11-year-old Mary felt it was an odd thing to be at this magical playground of fantasy with a large family of monster killers. It was such a juxtaposition. It was surreal.

Samuel had a plan to keep John Winchester away from his Daughter, and he was going to stick to it.

Mary and John did not see each other again for 6 years.

+++

Samuel had finally decided that he’d kept them apart long enough. She’d never mentioned him, asked to stay home over a break or gave any indication she was aware of his attempts to separate them.

Also, Deanna had nagged him about never reciprocating family hospitality, so they were going to stay home for Christmas of 1972 and host the whole family. Deanna’s family were also hunters, so there was no need to clean out the house of hunter paraphernalia, the local motel was full of family members who had a fair haul, and more local family was expected the morning of Christmas Eve. The day before Christmas Eve, Deanna had already started cooking. She had tried to get Mary interested in learning how. Mary just couldn’t focus on it though. Finally, Deanna got weary of trying and sent Mary off to the store to get a few things that had been forgotten.

Mary took the family car and drove down to the shopping district. She parked about half way down the main street and walked to the grocery store. Her mother’s list was in her coat pocket, wasn’t it? She couldn’t remember if she’d grabbed it or not. She stopped short and took off her left glove and reached into her pocket to feel for it. She found it and dragged it out to look at.

+++

John was sitting in the drug store at the soda fountain. Donnie had greeted him warmly. John made a point of stopping in, at least once, on his holidays from school. He liked the nostalgia and it warmed his heart that the fountain was still there. Also, he secretly hoped he might run into Mary. That she would somehow know he was here. The first few times, he had been bitterly disappointed that she was not, until one day he ran into Katie. He did not want to seem creepy or overly eager. Katie was more observant than most, though, and knew enough to subtly work into the conversation that Mary’s Dad seemed determined to make sure that his family was out of town when John might be home. Now he just stopped in and hoped.

As he waited for his food and soda, he glanced out into the lights and decorations on the street.

His breath caught in his throat. Could that be her? He couldn’t see her face; just a hat with a pouf of blonde waves escaping. He walked to the door before he realized what he was doing and opened it.

+++

She heard the door open in front of her. She looked up from her list and right into John Winchester’s beautiful green eyes. The air left her lungs in a rush. She smiled at him. He smiled right back.

“John.” She said warmly.

“Mary,” He turned slightly and offered her his arm. “May I buy you a strawberry soda?”

She took his arm,

“Yes.”

He walked her back to the soda fountain, selected a table for two, and sat her down.

Behind the counter, Donnie smiled, with satisfaction, at a job well done.

+++

_November 2, 1983_

_There was only so much you can change when you alter timelines, he thought. He’d already made a huge change. But he’d considered it from every angle and been as surgical about it as possible. There would still be repercussions from it, he knew. However, the things he considered important, the things he felt needed altering, had changed. He hadn’t been able to stop Azazel; there was no way he could without making his presence known. Mary had still dealt for John’s life; her parents were still gone. He was sure, however, that this other change would get him the result he was after. Just these two changes. But this second change, this was the doozy._

_He waited until he was sure he could feel that Mary and Dean were fast asleep upstairs, and John was asleep in front of the late-night movie downstairs. Then and only then, did he enter the house._

_Only he and Sam were awake. He resisted the urge to look in on Sam in his nursery, or peek into Dean’s room. It was tempting. After all, he was doing this, out of love, to protect Sam and Dean. But he could not risk waking anyone up. The less time he spent in the Winchester house, the better._

_Mary rolled over in her sleep, her back to the baby monitor._

_He reached down and turned the baby monitor off._

_Sam’s gentle, happy, cooing fading away and ending in a click when the device was off._

_He couldn’t stop Azazel, but he could make sure Mary didn’t die._

_He’d done all he could. He hoped it worked._

_All he could do now, was watch._

_+++_


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sams' third and fourth birthday parties, a terrifying clown and a much less terrifying (to Sam, at least) Magician.  
> aka Mary decides to start hunting again.

Chapter Four

Lawrence, Kansas. 1987

+++

Mary was packing up a box with party favors and decorations. Tomorrow would be Sam’s fourth birthday. They’d reserved a picnic area at the park and invited all the family and Sammy’s preschool class. Mary was a little nervous at having to deal with her in-laws. Their opinion of her hadn’t changed in all these years, but they were better able to be civil with her. They approved of her giving up hunting and taking care of the young legacies that would continue the Winchester line as Men of Letters. They doted on the boys and spoiled them whenever given the chance. Because she had given birth to the next generation of Winchesters, they treated her like she was at least a human.

Even though Mary had been sure she wanted to give up hunting and have a normal life, it rankled her pride a little that it made her in-laws happy. She knew hunting was noble and that hunters saved lives; they were heroes. The Men of Letters behaved as if they were, at best, tools to be used, and at worst, trash to be ignored. This attitude made Mary feel a little sick any time she had to deal with one of them. She knew John’s co-workers looked down on her, as well. The other wives were condescending to her when forced to socialize at all. They all loved John though. He was a fine Man of Letters. He was doing them proud.

The unspoken ‘ _such a shame about his wife’_ was ever present, though.

She was snapping the lid onto the box and getting ready to carry it out to the car. John worked at The Bunker alongside his father now. The Impala was really Mary’s car now, since John commuted the same way Henry did. She wanted to get all the stuff for the party safely tucked into the car’s trunk before going and picking up Sam from preschool. They were going to try and surprise him with the party. They’d even booked a magician.

Mary shuddered a little remembering how badly last years’ clown had gone. The clown had been drunk, angry, and terrifying. The clown’s make-up had even scared Mary a little. It had streaked from sweat and resembled blood running down the man’s chin, more than the intended big smile. He seemed to not understand there were small children present. He spoke in a slurring, deep, dead cadence and said questionable things. He’d made Sam cry ‘til the three-year-old was hyperventilating and red as a cherry. In retaliation for this offense, Dean had punched the clown in the only thing the seven-year-old could reach.

And Dean had punched him there hard and repeatedly. All the while yelling at the top of his lungs,

“I’LL KILL YOU FOR SCARING SAMMY!!!” John had had to pull Dean away and hold him forcibly back, all while apologizing to the clown.

Mary counted this among the many moments in Dean’s life where she was secretly brimming with pride over his actions and trying desperately not to show it; or laugh. Mary had been soothing Sammy, but he would not calm down until Dean came over and blocked Sam’s view of the clown. He stood in front of Sam, guarding him. His sturdy legs braced apart, arms crossed, fists still balled, and defiantly glaring at the clown as he retreated to his car. When the clown had driven away, and his car had disappeared around the corner, Dean had turned to Sammy and said,

“He’s gone now, Sammy, I won’t let him scare you again.” Ruffling his little brothers’ hair with a smile.

“Thanks, Dean.” Sam had said softly; tear stained but smiling back.

Dean was already Sammy’s hero, and Mary could see why. She was sure Dean was in full possession of the Campbell hunting genes. That boy was born to protect the innocent. She was a little sad he wasn’t going to get the chance to explore that side of his heritage. John was busy lecturing Dean about how he was expected to solve problems without violence, and gentlemen did not behave this way. Dean was expected to use his brain, not his fists, to resolve conflict.

Mary had caught herself thinking _‘Men of Letters crap’._ She felt a flush of shame, she’d chosen this path with her eyes open, this was as close to a normal life and not hunting as she was going to get. But occasionally, her dad’s voice sounded in her head, and her dad’s voice had very definitive opinions about the Men of Letters. Her shame at thinking this vanished though, when she heard John’s mother add to the lecture by saying,

“Remember Dean, you are not an animal,” Millie looked pointedly at Mary, “You, Dean, are a Winchester.”

Dean was always tuned in to his surroundings and noticed far more than a child should. The fact that this remark was aimed at his mother and meant as an insult did not escape him. Much as the fact that Dean had squared off his stance slightly, and balled the fist only she could see, did not escape Mary.

Mary offered Dean the only distraction that was guaranteed to work. She did not want to watch her son punch her mother-in-law, and that’s where this was heading.

“Dean take Sam over to the table, so we can get some cake into you two.” She said with a smile, knowing that offering him his brother and food were the only things that could get Dean to change course. She gave him a small encouraging nod that said, _‘pick your battles, son.’_ Dean nodded back and swooped Sammy up to ride piggyback over to the table. Mary sighed, wistfully; Dean would have made such a great hunter. That was not the first time she’d been aware of him noticing that his grandparents had an issue with Mary, but she wondered just how much he understood about it.

As she was closing the trunk of the car she heard the phone ringing. She ran in to pick it up and was greeted by one of her cousins. At first, she did not understand what her cousin was saying, because it made no sense in the frame of reference for a 4-year-olds party, and planning Sam’s party was currently eating up her “Mom Brain.” Slowly she realized she was being asked for help with lore for a hunt and her hunter brain took over. She knew exactly what her cousin was up against and told her what was needed. She got off the line with a wish for her cousin’s safety.

She’d become a little bit of a lore wonk for her family, since she wasn’t actively in danger she saw no reason to refuse to help her family out when they needed help. Bobby Singer was the guy who handled phones for most of the hunters and did most of the lore research. While Mary trusted him with her life, the rest of the Campbells were very clannish and tended to only rely on each other. The family understood she could not always help, not if John was home, so they tended to call when they knew he’d be at work. Mary did not think this was lying to John, since the family was picking when to call her of their own volition. But she also knew if John asked, she’d probably cover it up.

For a moment, she felt that wistful yearning to be out there helping her cousin in a more meaningful way. She’d felt that way more and more in the last year. Sammy at pre-school all morning and Dean at school all day. John often not returning until very late into the night. Her family calling on her for help more often; all these things compounded to make her wish she hadn’t been so resolute about giving it up. She was raised to it after all. It was her heritage just as much as John’s was the Men of Letters. John hadn’t made her give it up, but she’d made her desire to stop clear. They had never even really discussed it.

She was happy, after all. She loved John to distraction, and she was so proud of her little boys, she was so full of love for her family. She could never be sorry that she had stopped hunting to be this person. But lately a combination of concern over increased hunting activity, (there seemed to be more demons, ghosts, and monsters that wanted killing lately) and feeling a little left behind when she was home alone each morning, had made her wish she hadn’t stopped. Sure, she’d taken on a few loose ends that were her responsibility, like that business with Asa. As a hunter, you cleaned up your messes, but she did not consider that to be hunting.

As she left the house to go pick Sam up, she allowed herself a small fantasy of talking about starting to hunt again with John. Her fantasy included him supporting her decision, and her getting to protect her boys in a more meaningful way.  For the first time since these thoughts had started popping into her head, she decided maybe she would talk to John about it. It had been her choice after all. John was a very supportive man. While his family and co-workers clearly had no use for hunters, John had never said a bad thing or made Mary feel anything less than proud of herself. By the time she had pulled back into the driveway and started removing Sam from the back seat, she had decided she would talk to John the day after Sam’s party.

+++

The Magician was a huge hit. Well, at least for Sam. Dean thought the guy was okay, but he lost interest with a quickness once the food was set up. Although, even after he had drifted over to the picnic table, he kept an eye and an ear tuned to Sam. Mary saw him react when Sam laughed or said anything to The Magician. She smiled to herself. If anything, ever, came after Sam, it would have to go through Dean. She found herself again wishing Dean would get the chance to explore his Campbell heritage. The Men of Letters would soon beat that out of him. Teach him not to intervene, only to study, to make notes, to record. Observation was important; intervention was for hunters. He was expected to go to the academy after one more year of regular schooling. Mary knew that Dean’s absence would be very hard for Sam, and she knew Dean would worry about Sam.

She watched Sam as The Magician held his focus. The main part of his little show was over, and Sam’s school friends had all drifted to the playground. Sammy had The Magician all to himself, now. The man was working a card trick much to the dimpled amusement of the birthday boy. The Magician offered a small deck of cards that were sized for a child’s hands to Sam and started showing him how to do the trick. Sam was smiling ecstatically, his eyes wide. She glanced up and saw Dean smiling because Sam was happy, and her heart broke a little at their coming separation. Mary walked over to Dean and said,

“The Magician seems to be a big hit.”

“Yah, Mom. Sammy really likes him. I don’t think I’ll have to punch this one,” Dean answered, completely deadpan serious.

Mary snorted and turned red… but she couldn’t hold it in anymore… and finally, after years of trying not to encourage him when he said inappropriate things, she let loose with the laughter she’d been holding in since he had started talking in complete sentences.

Dean smiled and laughed with her. Proud he’d finally gotten his mom to laugh about something. When dad made her laugh, it was the prettiest sound to Dean, and he’d always hoped he could make her laugh one day.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Mary said as her mirth subsided. She shuffled her fingers through his hair, smiling at him.

Sammy ran over to them excited with his newfound skill and eager to show off the trick.

“Dean! Mom! Look what I can do!” He fanned the deck out in front of him, so that the corner pips were visible for Dean, but not to himself, “Pick a card, Dean!”

Dean smiled at how excited Sammy was, and slid the three of clubs out of the deck.

“Now, hang on, don’t let me see it!” Sam pushed the cards back together, and with his tongue sticking out in concentration, tried very hard to shuffle the deck how The Magician had shown him. In the end, the shuffle wasn’t nearly as fancy, but it got the job done and Mary found it adorable to watch. John drifted over to them and draped his arm around Mary. All three of them focusing on Sam’s attempt to get the cards to do his bidding.

Sam finally had them shuffled to his satisfaction, he fanned them out again in front of Dean and said,

“Is this your card?”

The entire deck had become the three of clubs. Dean was impressed, he grinned at Sammy and told him it was, and asked him how he had done it.

“I’m not supposed to tell, Dean. It’s the magician’s code.” Then he motioned for Dean to lean down and give Sam an ear.

Dean leaned down and Sam whispered, “I’ll tell you later.”

Dean smiled.

“That was very good, Sam,” Mary said

“Well done, Son,” added John.

The fact that neither parent was smiling anymore escaped Sam’s notice, but not Dean’s.

“Mom, hold my cards, okay? I wanna go play on the swings, please,” Sam pushed the deck into her hand and ran off, calling behind him for Dean to follow and push him. As Dean started walking after Sam, he saw Mom flip the deck over and look at the cards. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the cards changed back from threes of clubs to normal. Wow, he thought to himself, that was some trick. Especially for a four-year-old.

As Dean pushed the swings for Sam and his little friends, he watched Mom and Dad have a hushed, but frantic conversation, as they inspected the deck thoroughly. John looked over to where The Magician had been only minutes before, and Dean’s eyes followed. The Magician and all trace he had ever been there, were now gone. John’s face held an expression of fury. He grabbed the deck from Mary, said something, viciously, and shoved the deck in his pocket.

“Hey Sammy,” Dean caught his little brothers’ swing and held him back for a minute, “How’d you do that trick?” He wanted to know for real now. Was he going to have to track down this Magician and punch him, after all? Should he be worried about this?

Sam tried to twist around and look at Dean,

“I can’t tell you here Dean, the ‘Rubes’ might hear us.”

“’Rubes’?” Dean asked

“That’s what The Magician said the audiences were. Rubes.”

Dean easily plucked him out of the swing and set him down,

“Come here really quick and tell me and I promise I will swing you soooo high you’ll almost go over the bar.” Sammy had a daredevil streak in him that only Dean knew about, so this got the desired result.

When they had walked far enough away from the other kids, Sam explained the trick to him.

“First you get a rube to pick a card,” he smiled up at Dean, “You were my rube, Dean! Then you listen while the rube thinks about the card, and you listen to what the card is. Then you just make all the other cards be that card. I need to learn to shuffle better, though. He made all these fancy shuffles, but they are a lot harder to do than he made them look.”

“Sammy,” Dean’s humor had faded, and his mouth went dry, “What do you mean you listen to what the card is?”

“Well you took the card, and I listened to you looking at it, and you said it was the three of clubs.” Sam sounded exasperated, it wasn’t rocket science, it was a magic trick, “You know how you can hear me sometimes when I’m not there, and I can hear you. Like that.”

“Sammy, I can’t hear you unless you speak to me… out loud,” Dean said, wondering how much of this was the four-year-old’s imagination.

Sam rolled his eye’s and blew his hair out of his face.

“Okay like remember last week when I called you because I had a nightmare and you came to my room and told me dumb jokes ‘til I fell back asleep?”

“Yes,” Dean said.

“You heard me, and you came to my room. I called you.”

“No, you didn’t, I…” How had he known Sam needed him…? He suddenly couldn’t remember hearing Sam’s voice, just knowing that Sam needed him. Sam shifted impatiently, feeling the pull of Dean’s promise of aerial superiority. Dean grabbed him and turned him back to focus on the conversation.

“Sammy, how often to you do that, call me without talking out loud? Or listen to me when I’m not talking? Do you do it with anyone else?” Dean asked.

“Uhmmm,” Sam squinched up his face and thought about it, although he didn’t really understand what the big deal was, if Dean and he could hear each other, couldn’t all brothers and sisters hear each other? It’s just a thing you did, right? What was the big deal? “Well usually when I want you because I’m scared, I don’t say it out loud. I just think it at you, and you come make it better. I never tried to hear anyone else, so I don’t know. And mostly I only hear you when it’s something like you’re hungry, or thirsty or tired. You’re never scared, Dean.” He looked up at Dean, the little glow of hero worship back on his face.

“Can you hear me when I’m at school?” Dean asked.

“No, only when we’re closer than that.” Sammy answered.

“Sammy, how did you change the deck?” Dean felt very scared right now, he tried to keep his thoughts calm though, he didn’t want Sam to pick up on that fear.

“BLAHHHH this is boring… I told you I just changed it, you know, how you do that stuff… COME ON…” Sammy had no more patience for this, did not really get why Dean didn’t understand, and wanted his promised flight on the swings. Why was Dean so interested in stuff everyone could do? The Magician had done it, and he’d told Sam how to and Sam had told Dean. Sam did not see what the big deal was.

“Sammy, wait, listen…” Dean said, “Listen to me, focus, you have to promise me, and this is important,” Dean felt the fear bubbling up, and he saw in Sammy’s face that Sam had ‘heard’ it, “You can’t do that stuff in front of anyone else, okay? Not in front of Mom, and especially not in front of Dad.” Dean had already started the preliminaries required before being sent to the Academy. He knew how his Dad and the Men of Letters would react to Sam having actual inborn magic. Dean had to make him understand he couldn’t let Dad see him do any of this.

Sam suddenly understood that if Dean feared this, then it was bad.

Very bad.

“What about in front of you?” Sam frowned with distress; was he bad? Did Dean think there was something wrong with him? “I mean, what if I’m scared and I need you?” His chin trembled.

“Just with me, okay, I promise I will never think anything is wrong with you, but you can’t let Mom see it, because she’ll worry. And you can NEVER let Dad know. This is very important Sammy, only do that stuff when it’s with me, okay?” He knew that unless Sam had a handle on practice and control of whatever inborn magic he had, it would slip out unexpectantly and get him in trouble. Dean viewed Sammy’s safety as his responsibility, he always had. Even if it meant keeping Sam safe from himself.

“I promise, Dean,” Sam said. This was the first time he’d ever heard Dean being scared. He looked up at Dean and asked, “You still love me, though, right? I’m not bad, am I?” He was still confused over why this scared Dean, but if Dean was this scared, Sam knew to take it seriously.

“Sammy I will always love you and protect you. You’re not bad, you just have a… talent… that other people don’t have, and we need to keep that a secret, so you’ll be safe, okay?

“Okay, Dean.” Sam tried to hide a sniffle.

“Come on, let’s see how high I can pitch you in that swing.” Dean forced a bright tone and spun Sam towards the swings.

+++

Mary watched as the boys left them for the swing set. The magic had faded off the small deck of cards, taking her sense of security with it. The Magician had clearly been something she should have been hunting, not paying to do magic tricks at her kid’s party. Had she gotten so rusty that she’d let a monster entertain her youngest son?

John was fuming.

“What did that thing do to Sam?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” Mary was itching to go after the thing, but knew it was probably long gone. Her mind was already spinning through possible ways to track it down. She was about to tell John she’d take care of it, hunt it down and destroy it so it couldn’t hurt Sam, when John snatched the deck out of her hands and flipped through, the rage in his voice frightened Mary,

“A monster showing up at a children’s party… that’s just great…” He spit out, Mary understood the underlying accusation, this was somehow her fault. She felt like maybe he wasn’t wrong. She had gotten lax and her skills were decaying. She should have known there was something wrong with The Magician.

“I can…” she started to say she would go after it, but John snapped at her.

“I’ll take these to the bunker Monday and test them to see what they might have done to him, and you better pray it was the deck of cards that did that, and not Sam.” He shoved them in his pocket as he commanded, “You tell Sam you lost them.”

And that was the moment Mary knew she had to start hunting again.

Nothing was going to come after her kids, ever again.

It was also the moment she knew she couldn’t talk to John about it.

+++

 


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary starts hunting again, I had to teach spell checker that "idjit" is a word, so clearly Bobby is in this chapter, and Dean puts his foot down.

Chapter Five

Lawrence, Kansas. 1988

Under the guise of a visit to her cousins, she took a trip to South Dakota. This wasn’t a complete lie, as she stayed her nights at a cousin’s house nearby. Sam and Dean were staying with John’s parents after school while John was at work. They were probably getting spoiled to within an inch of their lives. John’s father had recently “semi-retired” for health reasons, but occasionally still went to the bunker. Henry and Millie were eagerly awaiting Dean starting at The Academy that fall. Gifts for their eldest Grandson had been nonstop, with school supplies and fancy little suits for him. Mary could tell Dean was horrified that he would be expected to wear a uniform to classes and that jeans and tee-shirts weren’t allowed on campus. To be honest, so was Mary.

Mary only planned to be gone for a few days, but she was still worried for the boys’ safety. Nothing had ever come of the situation with The Magician, John had never mentioned the cards again, and Sam had never done anything like that after that day. Mary had put out feelers on the hunter network, and people she trusted were looking out for her.

The best guess Bobby had come up with was a demon, but he had no clue what purpose the demon was serving by innocuously teaching a four-year-old a card trick. It did not seem like the normal sort of crap you got when demons were involved. There wasn’t really an angle to look at the incident through that did not seem strangely innocent and a little, well, comical. Mary supposed the demon might have had more of a plan and it got interrupted by Sam running over to show the trick to his family, but that really felt, in hindsight, like the distraction the demon had used to get away before he was suspected.

When she arrived at Bobby’s house, he greeted her warmly and offered her a cup of coffee. She was settled on the sofa and nursing a mug, while she talked over what she wanted done. Bobby listened to her describe the changes she wanted made to the car, nodding and taking notes. He was impressed at her foresight about what she might need. When she was done, Bobby asked her,

“So, I guess you’re sure you are going to start hunting again.”

“Well,” she answered, “I … kind of… have been.”

Bobby’s eyebrow shot up.

“I mean, nothing big, just little stuff around home. There was a witch who was trying to recruit new acolytes from the local high school, complete with demon contracts. That took me a morning last summer, and from there it just sort of ended up with me clearing out threats close to home over the last 9 months.” She explained to him.

“Mary, does John know you’ve been doing this?”

“No, I don’t think, I mean, I used to think I could tell him, and we could talk about it, but now…” she trailed off.

“You have to tell him,” Bobby pointed out.

Mary looked up, shocked by this, she hadn’t expected that from Bobby.

“Why?”

“Because, what if something happens to you, ya idjit!?” Bobby often felt like he spent enormous chunks of his life loudly pointing out really obvious shit to people, “You’re just gonna let him wonder why his wife and the mother of his children never came home one night? What do you expect him to tell the boys? How do you think the boys will feel when they never know what happened to their mom?” He let out an exasperated sigh, “Look, I know you need to do this, but you know it’s dangerous, no matter how good at it you are. You have to tell John.”

Mary thought about this. She could see Bobby was right.

+++

Three days later, as she drove home in the now tricked-out-for-hunting Impala, she thought about it some more. She should tell John. She worried over what he’d say, but she did not think he’d stop her. By the time she got home she had decided on two things. That she would tell John, but first she would tell Dean. She wanted to explain it all to Dean before she told John. She wanted Dean to know the truth before he was taught to hate her, for what she was, at the Academy. John wasn’t going to be able to stop her from hunting, but she needed to know that her children weren’t going to be taught to hate her if the conversation with John ended with her leaving.

When she got home she called her in-laws and let them know she would be over to pick the boys up in a few minutes, as soon as she had unpacked the car from her trip. The biggest changes to the car were that the trunk now had a false bottom storage compartment, and the back seat lifted to reveal more weapons storage. Bobby had also given her an old beat up, green ice chest. No reason, he just needed to get it out of the hall closet because he was turning that space into a set of book shelves. He was running out of room for lore books. Ice chests always came in handy, so she’d taken it off his hands. For now, though, she brought it into the kitchen to clean it out. It was empty, and clearly someone had cleaned it out before storing it in the closet, but it had that musty smell of being kept closed for 10 years.

When she arrived at her in-laws, Henry and Millie greeted her more warmly than usual. Mary was a little distrustful of that but returned the greeting in like tone. Millie smiled at her with a smile that reached her eyes for once. Mary figured they were just happy to have gotten so much time with the boys or were relieved to finally give them back. Sam bounced happily up to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, he put his feet on her feet and said with a huge grin,

“Hi Mommy!” Then he ran to the car and let himself in the back seat.

“Hi, Mom.” Dean said, clearly relieved to see her, and glad to be leaving his grandparents’ home. Mary looked at her in-laws, the question on her face. Their only responses were with Henry’s slight shrug, and Millie’s smile intensifying as she said,

“It’s fine, dear. We all had a lovely time. Oh, Dean, dear, don’t forget your things!” She handed him out a giant shopping bag, bursting with stuff. Boxes and smaller bags poked out of the top, all emblazoned with the names of expensive shops. Then she handed him a hatbox. Dean rolled his eyes so only Mary could see.

Dean went to the car and put the bag on the back seat next to Sammy, the hatbox on the floor in front of the seat, and then put himself in the front passenger seat.

Mary thanked them for watching the boys, before she left. As soon as she’d pulled out of the driveway, she said to Dean,

“So, what was that all about?”

Dean glanced back over his shoulder, Sammy was happily playing with a small wind up robot he’d been keeping in his pocket.

“Mom, I want to tell you about it, but not in front of Sammy, okay?”

“Okay, Dean.” Mary said. She was a little in awe of how mature Dean acted when it came down to protecting his brother. Sometimes though, she worried that he was too protective and without cause. Nothing bad had ever happened to either of them and it wasn’t like Mary and John weren’t there taking care of them. But sometimes she had this weird feeling that Dean felt like he was the only thing between Sam and the world.

“Sam, did you have fun at your grandparents house?” She called back to her youngest son.

“Yah, Grandpa Henry read me a bunch of stories out of a book of myths, and Grandma Millie made sugar cookies and I got to help decorate them.”

Mary was sure the book had been a Men of Letters library item. She wasn’t mad though, that was one thing Hunters and Men of Letters had in common, you started teaching your kids about the monsters as soon as you could, and you started the lore off as myths and legends. It was how you taught them about what the monsters could do and how to stop them, without terrifying your children. Present it as fiction. She’d read to them from her own collection many times.

“Sounds fun.” Mary said, Sam’s attention went back to his robot.

 Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, he stared out the window all the way home.

+++

John was not going to be home until very late, he’d been working on a rather large project, mapping out areas of potential threats. The Men of Letters had realized there was increased activity, as well, and were trying to get a handle on where and why. For some reason, that John had been very vague about, they needed him to stay late, possibly overnight. She’d told him to stay safe, he’d assured her it was just boring cartography, the only possible danger was a papercut.

 She and the kids ordered a pizza, then she got Sam ready for bed. Once he was asleep, Mary went down to the living room where Dean was watching an episode of _Sledge Hammer!_

“Dean, Sam’s asleep. Do you want to talk about what happened at your grandparents?”

He turned off the T.V. and sat on the sofa next to his mom.

“Mom, why don’t Grandma and Grandpa like you?”

“Did they tell you that?” She asked, gently, she was unsure how to proceed. She didn’t want to upset him, but she needed to know what had happened.

“Well, I’ve noticed it. They say things about you in a certain way. Like the words are not insulting but the way they say them is.” He wrapped his arms around her arm and leaned his head against her. “I just don’t get how anyone could not like you. And I feel like I should not make a scene about it because it will make them madder at you. But I also feel like I should defend you… and lately that feeling is really strong…and…” he trailed off.

An alarm bell went off in Mary’s head…

“Dean, what happened at your Grandparents?”

“I… said something I probably shouldn’t have.”

“What did you say?”

“Well Sammy and me were playing, and I was showing Sammy how to throw a good punch, the way you taught me. And I told Sammy you could show him better, because you taught me… and Grandma said,” Dean swallowed hard, and his cheeks were bright red, “she said… something, under her breath… and I don’t think she thought I was listening…” Mary knew Dean was always listening, always so aware of everything around him, she was surprised no one else seemed to realize that but her.

“What did she say, sweetheart?”

“She said, ‘hunter trash’.” He held onto her tighter like he was trying to protect her from the words.

“Dean, you know what a hunter is, and you know I come from a long line of hunters, do you think I’m trash?”

“No!” He looked up terrified she might think that.

“Do you think your father and brother think I’m trash?”

“NO!! Sammy and Daddy love you so much!”

“Well, your three opinions are the only ones that matter to me. So, don’t you worry about it.”

“Okay except…”

“Except what?”

“Well I heard her say that and I couldn’t keep quiet this time…”

“Oh, Dean, what did you do?”

“I stood up for you.”

“How?”

“I told her you were the best mother, and if she didn’t stop being mean to you I would never speak to her or Grandpa again. I also told her that protecting people from the bad stuff was noble and important, and that you had saved lives.”

She hugged him.

“Don’t worry, Mom, I didn’t say it angry or yell. I was very calm, and I spoke like a grown up.” Mary knew instinctively that he had held his temper in check not for the benefit of his grandparents or her honor, but so he would not scare Sam.

She just held him close for a few minutes. Rocking him a little, she just wanted to pretend he was her baby boy one more night. But she knew he wasn’t and soon he’d be away at school, she needed to take her cuddles while she could.

“Dean, honey. I need to talk to you about hunting,” she started, looking down at him, “I want to… I mean I have been hunting again lately. It’s important to me to keep you boys safe, and other people who need help. Do you know how you feel about protecting Sammy?” Dean nodded. “Well that’s how I feel about protecting you and Sammy and your father and a lot of other people. There are bad things out there, Dean, and I need to keep people safe from them.”

“I wish I could do that and not have to go be a stupid Man of Letters.” Mary’s heart broke a little at this, Dean would make such a good hunter, and she knew the academy would bore him to tears. He was smart; both her boys were. However, she knew he would never be happy to sit back and not act. Reading about the bad stuff made him want to fight it.

“I know, and I think you’d be good at it. I could train you a little if you like, teach you about how to use weapons and some things hunters need to know,” she told him, “those things could come in handy when you are a Man of Letters, too.”

“Okay!” His mood shifted from sullen and shameful to excited anticipation in an instant.

“But Dean, listen to me, there’s a reason I am telling you about Hunting right now,” she looked at him and caught his eyes, “if something happens to me, I want you to know that no matter what, I love you and I love your brother and I love Daddy, and I need you to remember that I would never willingly leave you. If I don’t come back, one night, you must remember that. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

“Mom if you don’t come back, I’ll always come find you, don’t worry!”

“Mary?” John’s voice was fearful from behind them, she hadn’t heard him come in, and strangely she didn’t think Dean had either. They had been so intensely focused on their conversation. She felt him stiffen slightly, at the sound of his Dad’s voice, “what are you talking about… are you hunting again?”

“Dean go upstairs and get ready for bed,” Mary ordered, “I’ll be up to tuck you in soon.”

Dean ran out of the room and up the stairs. But he stopped on the landing and listened.

“Mary?”

“Yes, I’ve been hunting,” she confirmed.

“When did you start hunting again?”

“Last summer, there was a witch… it wasn’t too much to take care of; a mornings’ work.” She looked at him, nervously waiting for him to say something she could gauge for reaction.

He sat down in his chair, hard. He looked stunned.

“Why?”

“John…”

“Tell me why!” he demanded

She took a deep breath,

“The Magician.”

“What? From Sam’s party?” Truth be told, the reason John had not ever reported back on the deck of cards was that he just plain kept forgetting about them. The deck was tucked in a drawer at the bunker, forgotten. The increased supernatural activity had been taking up everyone’s focus, and since Sam never did anything like that since then he eventually figured it had been the cards and didn’t even bother testing them.

“Yes. Something dangerous came that close to my baby, and I didn’t even see it because I was out of practice. I need to do this, I need to keep them safe. It’s who I was raised to be.”

John thought about this for a few moments and then said,

“Okay, I understand that. I know you need to be who you were born to be, but tell me this,” he looked at her and leaned forward and took her hand in his, “is there anything I can do that will make you not feel like you must do this? Make you feel safe? I feel like you are telling me I am failing to make you safe, like I am failing at protecting my boys.”

“No, John, it’s not you at all, I know you’ll do your best to keep us safe, but if I am also doing my best to keep us safe… well, I mean, a Campbell and a Winchester, our boys will be the safest children on the face of the earth,” she paused and took a deep breath, “It’s not that you aren’t keeping us safe, it’s that I need to help keep us safe, too. Hunting is how I know to do that.”

“Well, I can’t stop you, and I know you are a great hunter, but,” he sighed, “I also can’t lie and tell you I’m happy about it or okay with it. It’s dangerous, you run the risk of leaving the boys without their mother, and I don’t think I’d be very good at raising them without you,” for a moment, the thought of what an absolute wreck he’d become without her exploded in his mind, then he said, “But if you really feel you need to do this, just please promise me you’ll be safe and careful.”

“Of course, John. I’m doing this to protect them,” Mary reached up and placed her hand on his cheek, gently, “I can’t let monsters come after my boys. We’re targets to them because of who we are,” to herself she thought _‘and what I did… that magician came after Sam because of me, because I dealt for John’s life and never paid the price…this is my fault.’_ “I need to protect my boys.”

+++

The following months She spent her spare time giving Dean lessons in weaponry, and methods for banishing, killing, and exorcising various monsters and demons. She went through all the bestiaries she had with him and got him a special silver hunting knife engraved on the handle with his initials. She also got him a gun, taught him how to care for it and use it, he was a natural. He seemed to enter a Zen-like state of precision and never missed his intended target grouping at the range. She’d taken Dean on a simple salt and burn. She had him come along to hunt down one surviving, injured, pack member from a werewolf clan another hunter had decimated the previous night, before calling for Mary’s help to track down the straggler. Dean had made the kill shot on that. Mary was very proud.

John had allowed this at first because Dean being able to fight if he had to, and defend himself, was a solid plan. Even if he would never need these skills as a Man of Letters. But as the summer drew to a close, and uniforms were being altered at the tailor, boxes being packed to ship to the Academy, Dean’s resistance to the idea of going to the Academy started to become a palpable cloud around the boy. John began to wonder if he should have forbidden the training.

About a week before they would be leaving to take him to the academy, Mary and John were sitting on the porch, staring out at the late summer evening. Mary was enjoying a beer, John was having a scotch. At first, after Mary had come clean about hunting again, they would wait ‘til the boys were upstairs and sit out on the porch comparing notes. Lately, they’d mostly just sit in a tense truce of silence. Dean’s growing and obvious desire to hunt instead of going to school was becoming an elephant in the room. John could see Dean was good at it, and that he loved it, but he could not help the feeling that Mary encouraged him too much and that it would get them both killed. At the very least, it was going to divert Dean’s focus from his schooling. Mary felt like the weight of expectation John had for Dean to go be something he so clearly did not want to be was like a torture for the boy.

“Mom? Dad?” They looked up to see Dean standing on the doorstep. He was wearing his pajamas and slippers. He had a very serious expression on his face.

Mary thought to herself _‘here it comes’_

“Yes, Dean?” John said.

Dean came out all the way onto the porch and stood before them. He steeled himself with a deep breath, and then said,

“I want to be a hunter, I don’t want to be a Man of Letters.”

Mary and John both were silent. Mary smiled, barely, only Dean saw; it gave him strength. She lowered her head to compose her features.

John felt the words like a weapon piercing his heart. Fear for Dean and rage at his wife, exploded into his head. Something twisted in him at this display of defiance from his son. He’d never denied Dean the chance to learn about his Campbell heritage, but no son of his was going to become a hunter. His sons were Men of Letters and that was it. He felt this twisting, painful rage, and he knew he’d never be the same.

He tried to keep his voice calm and measured, completely unaware that both Dean and Mary could read him like a book and feel the rage emanating from him.

“Son, I know you are good at hunting, and I know it’s exciting. But you are going to the Academy, and you are going next Monday and that is final.” John barely sounded civil. He stood up and towered over Dean.

Dean pulled himself up, held himself straight and as tall as he could, and met his father square in the eye.

“No, Sir, I am not.” Dean answered. His voice was calm, respectful, and resolute. His face showed no fear.

They stood there, stubbornly locked in silent combat. Two pairs of steady green eyes fixed in battle.

Mary finally spoke up.

“Dean, don’t you think you could try the Academy for a little bit, you might find you like it.” She tried to broker a peace with this compromise.

Dean thought about this. Should he give the Men of Letters any of his time? Time he could spend becoming a better hunter? The Men of Letters didn’t protect people, they protected knowledge. Dean knew that was important, he respected the work his father did, but he also knew that he needed to protect people. He needed to be able to protect Sammy. He knew, better than either of them, that Sammy was going to need Dean to protect him. Dean had seen, over the last year and a half, that his little brother was going to need someone in his corner, someone to keep him safe.

Sammy had kept his promise to not do anything like the card trick in front of Mom and Dad. Dean had kept his promise to be a safe confidant and help him practice so he could control it. Dean knew that he was the only one who could and would fight for Sammy no matter what, and to do that he needed the skills of being a Hunter. It was a fair point that the Men of Letters could give him knowledge he could use, and he might find once he was there that he would like it. But that would mean leaving Sammy alone and unprotected. That was not something he could do.

Dean sometimes had a weird feeling that he was living two lives at once, like his safe suburban life of privilege and lauded heritage was on the surface. At the same time, he felt, inside, to the core of who he was, that Sammy and him were alone, scared, and his parents weren’t really there. As if Dean was all there was standing between the two of them and an evil darkness. He had nightmares about the two of them alone, terrified, starving and neglected in weird rooms, with monsters coming after them. Once, when he was four, he’d even had a nightmare that Mary had burned to death, sliced open through her gut and pinned on the ceiling, as he’d clutched Sammy to him and run from the house. These hellscapes seemed so real that they strengthened his resolve to protect Sammy above all else.

He broke off eye contact with his father’s anger. He tilted his head slightly to look at Mary and said,

“No, mom. Hunting is what I’m supposed to do. I was born to it. I won’t go,” He looked back to his father, “and if you try and force me to go, I will leave and never come back, Sir.” The unspoken, _‘and I will take my little brother with me.’_ rang in his head. He would not leave Sammy.

Dean, having said his piece, turned to go back to the house.

John reached out and grabbed his arm, held him firmly and said,

“Son, it’s just so dangerous. You could get hurt; the Academy is safe,” John’s tone softened, if not his hold on Dean’s arm, “I just want my boys to be safe.”

“I know, Sir. But I have to do this. I have to protect…” Dean paused, suddenly realizing that his love for his little brother could be used against him here, “people; I need to be a Hunter,”

+++

John spent the following week trying at every turn to change Dean’s mind. He tried cajoling, explaining, bribing, and he even resorted to a few veiled threats.

Mary, meanwhile packed away the uniforms and books and hoped the clothing would fit Sam when he went away. She also re-enrolled Dean at the public school but let him know he could change his mind and go to the Academy if he wanted, she’d still be so proud of him, no matter what.

On Monday, John reluctantly called the Academy and withdrew Dean’s name from the register. As he hung up the phone, he knew in his heart that he’d lost Dean, completely.

On Tuesday, John threw himself into a single goal. Making sure Sam wanted to go to the Academy became his sole focus. He brought Sam books and spent his evenings reading them to and with him, he brought him pictures of artifacts and treasures. He told him about magical items and spells he’d helped work. He started teaching him ancient languages. Sam was as natural at this as Dean was at hunting. Sam’s thirst for the lore and the history was unending.

John knew he wouldn’t lose Sam like he had Dean.

+++

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean helps Sam learn to control his power, Sam leaves for School, and John "Johns" everything up.

Chapter Six

Lawrence, Kansas. 1988

Once Dean understood John’s new fascination with making sure Sammy wanted to go to The Academy when the time came, he knew he’d somehow tipped his hand. John was going to punish Dean in the only way that mattered.

John was going to take Sammy away from Dean.

And he was going to make sure Sammy was happy about it, so Dean wouldn’t interfere.

From the moment he realized this, Dean only ever addressed John when he absolutely had to and only called him “Sir.” All affection he’d felt for the man drained away. A man who would use one child to punish the other wasn’t a father. Sammy would at least be safe and protected when he went to school. Dean just had to make sure he could control his magic before he left, and he had four more years to work with him on that. Sammy was smart, he was disciplined, he was focused. Dean was sure he’d be safe at The Academy. They’d be separated, true, but it was a better arrangement, in Dean’s mind, than Dean leaving him unprotected in Lawrence to go to the school himself.

Dean threw himself into training for hunting with a perfect focus, and still managed to get his homework done and be head of his class at school. He had good friends at school and was popular with everyone. He had a reputation, much as his mother had before him, of sticking up for the underdogs. He did so well at school he surprised himself. He realized this was because the Dean he was, in his nightmares, had never had a chance to be good at school.

+++

Lawrence, Kansas. 1992

Every night for as long as Sam could remember, Dean would either sneak into Sam’s room, or Sam would sneak into Dean’s room and they would spend at least an hour or so after their parents were asleep talking and playing board games. When Sam had been younger, Dean had always gone to Sam’s room, usually with a picture book or a book of stupid jokes, and read to Sam. But after his fourth birthday, Dean started to teach him how to play various board games.

The main rule, for Sam, was he had to practice the secret stuff by not using his hands. Dean would toss the dice for both, at first. Rolling dice, for some reason, was extremely hard and a thing Sam couldn’t get to work right until he was much older. The problem being when to release them, so he wasn’t forcing the outcome he wanted. He wasn’t allowed to cheat, he still had to obey the rules of the game, he just wasn’t allowed to touch the game or pieces at all. Sam would concentrate, and the little silver dog would walk forward on its own. At first it was clunky and inexact. Eventually Sam was able to make the little dog act and move like a real dog. He even had it barking at Dean’s token and lifting its leg on Dean’s hotels. Dean thought that was hilarious.

They worked through the family collection of board games, except for three of them. They never played Battleship because Sam always knew where Dean’s ships were. Clue, because there was really nothing for Sam to practice moving that wasn’t better in another game, and Clue does not work very well with only two players. It works even less well when one of the players always knew without trying which cards were in the envelope.

The third “game” they never touched was the Ouija board. They knew it wasn’t a game and they were forbidden to touch it.  Dean was both curious and afraid of what might happen if Sammy tried using it. But since their parents had unilaterally made it clear that the spirit board was a tool, not a game, they never tried it.

By the time Sam was turning nine, they talked about more “grown up” things. They also played strategy games more than anything else. For instance, Sam making all the moves for both on a chess board, Dean saying his move and Sam making the pieces obey. Or they’d play Othello, Sam flipping his pieces while lying on his stomach across the bed looking down at the board, and Dean, sitting, cross-legged, on the floor. They were well matched on the strategy games, so they preferred Othello, Chess, and Go at this point. While they’d play, Dean would talk about girls he liked at school, which Sam was sort of both grossed out, and fascinated by, at the same time. Sam would talk about stuff he’d done at school that day, or things his friends had done over the weekend.

Dean found it sad that Sammy was fascinated by his friends’ weekends. Sammy’s weekends were full of preparation for The Academy. So, he told Dean about outings and parties he was missing, and then after they had happened he told Dean how they had gone, second hand. He’d missed chaperoned bowling, mini golf trips, pool parties and aquarium visits. Dean, one night, told him he should tell their father to fuck off and demand to go have fun. Sammy had looked confused by this and just said,

“But I like studying on the weekends.”

“Don’t you ever want to go out with your friends?” Dean asked

“Yah, sometimes,” he’d shrugged, “but Dad would let me if I asked, I’m sure.”

“You’ve never asked?” Dean found this very odd since he talked about these outings so much.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

Sammy tilted his head to the side, saying,

“Well, I mean it sounds fun, but it never sounds more interesting than the stuff Dad and I do on the weekends.”

“Why do you go on about it so much then? I mean you tell me about it before your friends all go have a good time without you, and then you tell me all about their party or whatever, after your friends tell you about it…” Dean was holding up the game, because it was his turn, Sammy was idly causing a few of his pieces to dance in unison on the board in front of Dean.

“Because if I talk to you about the stuff Dad and I do, you might get sad. Just like you don’t talk to me about hunting with Mom, because you don’t want me to get scared.”

Dean thought about this for a few minutes. They were both avoiding the real-world stuff to save each other from having to deal with it. Sam had noticed it, Dean had thought he was being subtle and sneaky.

“Sammy, stop doing that, unless you mean to. You can’t use magic to fidget, even when you’re bored or nervous.” The Othello board stilled. Dean reached up to the drawer of his nightstand and dug out a quarter. “Here, if you need to fidget while you think, do that coin trick I showed you.” Dean had taught Sammy how to walk a coin across his knuckles. He also made sure Sammy always had small wind-up toys, tiny metal linking ring puzzles, and stage magic tricks tucked in his book bags, lunch boxes, and pockets. Sammy needed to get in the habit of fidgeting without magic use.

“Sorry Dean, I keep forgetting.”

“It’s okay Sammy, you’ll get better at it, I know you will.”

Sam got the coin walking across his knuckles back and forth. They resumed the Othello game. Sam concentrating on keeping the quarter moving with his hand while he simultaneously tended his pieces on the board with magic. He had to train himself to spend his nervous energy with manual dexterity, he knew this. He couldn’t have a nervous tick of random telekinesis. That would be bad.

After Dean took that match, they reset the center and divvied the pieces back up, to start the next match, Dean said,

“Sammy, we should tell each other that stuff.”

“You mean the stuff I do with Dad and the stuff you do with Mom?”

“Yah,” Dean said thoughtfully, “I mean, the stuff you learn could only help me, and vice versa. Things I find out on a hunt, I mean, I might come across stuff the Men of Letters don’t know. Or find new things and how to kill them, or a new thing that you’ll know how to kill and can help me with.”

“You mean like compare notes?” Sammy said, “that’s a good idea, are you sure it won’t make you sad when I talk about Dad though?”

Dean answered, honestly,

“Of course not,’ Dean scoffed, “I don’t care about Dad, at all.” Dean had a loyal streak in him a mile wide, but once you betrayed him, you were cut off.

Sam rolled his eyes.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

Dean froze…

“What do you mean?” Dean sort of panicked at the thought that Sammy might see something he kept so hidden.

“I don’t want you to be sad because you think I trust Dad more than I trust you, or because you think I love Dad more than I love you.” He paused, there was an awkward silence, before he quietly continued, “I don’t want you to think that Dad could ever be more of a hero to me than you are, Dean. That’s why I don’t talk about it; that’s why I worry it will make you sad.”

A lump was forming in Dean’s throat, before it could choke him completely he said,

“Thanks, Sammy.” Then, they did each other the courtesy of not speaking or looking at each other for a few minutes. There were a few sniffles, but let’s just agree that they were split evenly between them.

After a minute or so, an Othello piece floated up and placed itself, black side up, on the board. Signaling that Sam was ready when Dean was. Dean made his move.

A few minutes into the game, Dean said,

“You have to promise not to get scared. I won’t tell you stories about hunting if you are getting scared.”

“I promise to stop you if I start to get too scared, but I can’t promise I won’t get scared at all.” Sammy said, wisely.

Dean thought about this for a minute or two and then, seeing the wisdom in it, agreed.

From that night forward, their evenings were discussions on normal life events, but also, lore, and hunting.

+++

Sam’s school books and several boxes of room furnishings, school supplies, and clothing had been shipped to The Academy and would be waiting for him in his dormitory. He only had one medium sized suitcase filled with one uniform, a few toiletries, pajamas, spare underwear, and a small selection of fidgety toys to carry in the car with him.  Sam patted his left coat pocket; when Dean slipped him new fidget toys he always put them in Sammy’s left pockets. He felt the comforting weight of something new and smiled.

They all got in the car, John had gone around to the driver’s side, but so had Mary. There was a momentary battle of silent wills and Mary said,

“John you haven’t driven the car in years, just let me drive.” She smiled at him. It was a very tense, brittle, moment despite her efforts to make it light. Dean and Sam had both noticed that Mom and Dad were not as gentle and loving with each other anymore. They smiled and joked and tried to act like everything was okay, but they felt further apart to the boys. Dean for his part only cared because Mary sometimes felt very sad about it. Sam was worried because he was catching thoughts from them and knew they no longer trusted each other, even though he could feel that they both still loved each other.

John gave in and got into the passenger seat.

After about an hour the tension in the car got to Sammy. The little army man jammed into the ashtray on Deans’ door started to wiggle back and forth. Dean glanced down and saw the little man stand at attention and salute him. Dean’s right hand shot out to Sammy and patted his coat pocket. Sam realized what he had been doing and he reached in to his pocket, the army man becoming motionless again. Sammy pulled a little replica of the impala out of his pocket, his face lit up and he smiled at Dean, mouthing the words ‘ _thank you’._ It had gratifyingly smooth-spinning wheels and the doors opened and closed with satisfying squeaks and clicks. Sam came up with a pattern of motion, spinning the wheels and opening and closing the doors in order. This helped him deal with the tension for the first leg of the trip.

When they stopped, after three hours, to have lunch, Sam was excited because they were stopping at one of those touristy travel stops with a train ride, toys store and a candy shop. As advanced as he was for his age, he was still only nine. Dean was also happy to stop, just because three hours of tense car ride had given him a headache. After eating, Dean took Sam to the train and bought them each a ticket. It wound around a little orchard where the owners grew fruit for the pies the place was famous for. Then he took Sam into the toy store and asked him if he needed another fidget toy. Sam said no, the car was great, and they just browsed around. Then they went in the candy store and Sam used some of his pocket money to buy them both some candy, he got Dean some black licorice and some jawbreakers for himself.

Before they walked over to meet their parents, who had lingered over coffee while the boys stretched their legs. Dean stopped and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder, turning to face him.

“Hey, Sammy, you remember when to be by the phone, so I can call you, right?”

“Yah, Dean every night at 7:00, no matter what.” Mary had gotten Dean and herself each a Nokia 1011, because cellular phones had become a staple for hunters. But coverage was spotty at best in a lot of places you tended to end up when you were hunting. So, since Dean couldn’t be sure he’d be at home, a motel, or be able to get a cell call, Sam needed to be where Dean could reach him, and Dean would do his best to find signal or be at a payphone or a landline, so they could have their nightly talk. That nightly talk was the only way they were going to get through this, and they both knew it.

“And remember…”

“I know Dean, no magic.” He still sometimes forgot, but only slipped up when Dean was around, because if Dean was there, it was safe to do it. If nothing else stuck, _‘it was only safe when Dean was there’_ had.

“Also remember…” Dean got a little uncomfortable, and fidgety himself. But he was really going to miss Sammy, and he could feel himself becoming homesick for his little brother already. Sam heard this as clear as if Dean had said it out loud.

“Me too, Dean.” He hugged his brother. Dean slipped one of his prized silver dollars, from Grampa Campbell’s coin collection, into Sammy’s pocket. It was probably too big for his hands still, to do the knuckle walking trick, but he wanted Sam to have it, nonetheless.

“Keep that with you for luck, okay Sammy?”

“Okay.”

+++

When they arrived at the school, which was about an hour north of The Bunker, they parked the car, and got Sam’s suitcase out of the trunk. Other families were bringing children of varying ages. Older students, who could drive themselves, had already been back a week. Dean walked beside Sam and soaked up the surroundings, making a mental note of every detail, and watching for potential threats. Behind him, he knew their Mom was doing the same thing. John was walking with a light step and an air of happy nostalgia. He’d loved his time here, and he was so proud of Sam he was almost bursting.

Sam was feeling everything. Literally. He was feeling the pride pushing out from his Dad. The concern that was resonating inside his Mother. And as always, Dean’s protection wrapped around him like a blanket. His own feelings about this were hard to sort through. He was excited, because, well, he really wanted to be here, but he was sad to be separated from his family, especially Dean. Also, there was a little undercurrent of fear that he’d slip up on controlling himself and get in trouble.

As they approached the gate, a tiny woman in a grey suit rushed over to them and said in a squeaky little voice,

“Please… PLEASE! Stop.” She held up a hand. “No. No. No.” she turned to John, “Mr. Winchester, Sir.” She nodded at John. “And you must be Samuel,”

“Sam,” he corrected the squeaky lady.

“Yes, of course,” she said in a way that Sam knew by now meant she was going to call him ‘Samuel’ no matter how often he corrected her. “Here is your room key, and your class schedule. Please go line up past the gate where you see the other children lining up under the sign that says, ‘Year One’”

Sam turned and hugged Mary and gave her a kiss when she bent down to hug him back. Dean could tell this was odd, he’d noticed everyone else was going through with their families.  Sammy gave him a hug and whispered,

“Don’t worry, I’ll remember everything you taught me.” before letting him go.

“I’ll see you soon, Sammy.” Dean smiled at him.

Then Sam hugged his Dad.

“Be a good boy, Sammy.”

Sam pulled back and looked at his Dad and said,

“Only Dean can call me that! Sheesh.’ He rolled his eyes and ran off with his suitcase.

The squeaky lady waited until Sam was some distance away and turned back to them,

“I’m sorry Mr. Winchester, I did not mean to imply that you could not accompany him on to the grounds, but your, uhm, ‘hunter’ friends cannot enter the premises.”

“What?” Mary said.

 The squeaky lady still addressed herself to John, with an answer to this query, while ignoring the source of the question,

“We do not allow weapons of any kind on school grounds, and hunters are weapons. They are covered in dangerous things and do dangerous things…” a sneer of distaste dripped down her face, “it’s for the safety of the children, of course.”

Mary felt like she’d been punched in the lungs. This woman, this school, was refusing to let her on the grounds because she was a hunter.

“Of course, young Master Dean can come if he were to enroll…? We do still have a spot for him, should he choose to take us up on it…” She looked at Dean with a hopeful smile, Dean gave her a look that made that smile wither and die.

Dean turned on his heal and stalked back to the impala.

“Fine,” she said, “Well, as I said Mr. Winchester, if you would like to come be with your son and help him get settled you are welcome.” She turned on her heel and walked back behind the gate and continued to greet families.

Mary turned to John but kept her eyes downcast.

“Did you know about this? Did you know they weren’t going to let us on the grounds?” She said, coldly. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at him.

“I knew about the rule, but I didn’t think they’d enforce it… I mean,” he let out a nervous chuckle, “you’re with me.”

Rage flooded through her.

“You knew there was a chance they might rip my baby away from me at the door? And you didn’t tell me?”

John opened his mouth, but he realized there was nothing he could say here to make this better and shut it. He’d crossed a line. A line he couldn’t uncross.

He watched as the only woman he would ever love walked away from him, got into their car and drove off with the son he’d lost years ago.

+++


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam starts his first evening at The Academy.

Chapter Seven

The Academy, 1992

Sam had watched this entire exchange from his place in line. He felt the rage coming off Dean, he felt his Mom’s pain, his Dad’s anguish and confusion about how to make it better.

As John walked through the gates towards him, he felt his Dad build a façade to cover his real feelings. Sam understood his Dad wasn’t going to explain what happened, not without lying. He asked anyway,

“Why aren’t Mom and Dean coming in?”

“They are going home… I…uh… I am going to have to go to The Bunker, to work on some things, so I thought I’d stick around, after all, and help get you settled before I went.” John was relieved when Sam did not question him further.

John waited in the line with him, the year one class was only about fifteen kids, but it was still a bit of a wait since they were calling them forward in alphabetical order. Finally, the resident assistant for the dormitory called out,

“Winchester, Samuel” and they stepped forward.

“It’s Sam,” he said when they stepped in front of the man’s clipboard. Sam braced himself to be ignored on this point. This place did not seem like nicknames were ever going to be an option. So, he was pleasantly surprised when the man smiled wide and said,

“Ah, yes of course, so sorry,” he drew a line through ‘Samuel’ on the list and wrote in ‘Sam’, “I will make sure that gets changed on all the roll sheets… I know how it can be to have people call you by the wrong name.”

“Thank you,” Sam smiled brightly at the man. Then, he extended his hand in greeting.

The man shook Sam’s hand and said,

“I am Mr. Ranunculus.” A smile of kinship bloomed across his face, “I oversee the residences for your class. If you have any problems do not hesitate to ask. Your suite is one flight up that staircase, and then turn left. I believe your belongings are already there, but if anything is missing notify my office at once. We do have a few boxes that were improperly labeled and need to find their owners.”

Sam thanked him again as he and John walked to the stairs.

The door to his suite had a brass holder with a little engraved plaque slotted into it. The plaque read _‘Master Samuel William Winchester’_ , and before the spark of annoyance could fully ignite in his mind, a woman arrived with a clipboard and a stack of plaques, slid that one out and replaced it with one that said: _‘Master Sam Winchester’._ She made a tick on her clipboard and left without saying a word to either of them.

This was better, but he turned to his dad as soon as the lady disappeared and whispered,

“Why does it say ‘Master’?”

As John unlocked the door, he answered,

“It’s the honorific that gets used for young gentlemen with a lineage. Until you’re old enough to be a ‘Mister’ you’re a ‘Master.’” The door swung open and Sam’s eyes went wide in awe.

This wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all. He’d been surprised to learn he wouldn’t be sharing a room with anyone when they’d sent him the packet with his enrollment papers. John hadn’t been surprised and had told him the enrollment was small and select, and they always made sure everyone had a private room. But Sam hadn’t imagined more than a small room with a desk and a bed, and he expected to have to share a bathroom with everyone else on the floor.

This was a suite of rooms. There was a main room with a desk, a table, a small sofa and two big comfy chairs. There were two large windows facing out over the courtyard they had just been waiting in. The wall that held the front door also had a coat rack and an expanse of shelving for books. There were several lamps and a ceiling fan. Through one door off the main room there was a bedroom with a giant Four poster bed, two nightstands and a wardrobe. There was a window along one wall that had a very comfy looking window seat.

Opposite the door to the bedroom was a wall with two doors separated by a small fireplace. The door to the left of the fireplace led into a little kitchen area, just big enough for a mini fridge, a counter with a sink, a window over the sink looking out over the courtyard, a small cupboard with a few place settings’ worth of dishes, and a little dinette table. Sam wondered if they’d let him have a coffee maker… He was pretty sure other nine-year-olds didn’t drink coffee, so probably not. But he was already hooked on the stuff. The table had a little card on it that listed the dining hall hours and a week’s worth of menus.

The door to the right of the fireplace revealed a bathroom. There was a vanity counter with a sink, a toilet, a mirror, a hamper, and a big bathtub/shower with a glass door. The hamper had a card affixed to the top that said his room number and instructed him that housekeeping would collect it every Friday and his cleaned clothing would be returned to him on Sunday.

In the main room there was a pile of his boxes and luggage that they’d shipped beforehand,

“Wow, this is a lot more of a room than I thought it would be.” Sam said.

“Well, you’ll be here until you graduate, so make the most of it.”

“Don’t I move into the next year’s housing next year?”

“No, they rotate the rooms. These would have been last year’s graduating class. It makes it easier on the students and staff just to keep the students in the same rooms. And it teaches the students to take care of their suites, because they know they’ll be stuck with whatever they do to them. All the resident assistants are in offices along the back of the first floor, if you need them.”

Sam took his coat off and poked it up and onto a hook by the door. Then he started opening boxes. John watched him, his pride at Sam being here, ready and eager to become a Man of Letters, temporarily blotting out the pain that was waiting for him once he left. Dean was done with him, Mary might never speak to him again, but it was almost worth it to watch Sam happily unpacking his belongings into the suite. Sam would call this room home for the next eleven years. Then he would do two years of journeyman work for the order in whatever he decided to specialize in, then he would become a full-fledged member of the order.

John sat down in one of the chairs, and started opening boxes, as Sam zipped around the suite putting things away.

“You know, Sam,” John started, “you’re a legacy, from a very long line of Winchesters. Your ancestors helped found the Men of Letters.”

“I know Dad, you told me and Dean that all the time.”

“Well, I want you to know that some people might treat you differently because of that. Some teachers might be harder on you, some might give you a pass. The other kids, they might treat you different too.”

Sam shrugged,

“I get treated different all the time at school, s’okay.”

This surprised John, he’d had no clue Sam felt like an odd man out at the public school.

“You do?”

“Yah, Dad…” Sam rolled his eyes, “I can speak Latin, read an entire text book in an hour and remember it all, and do math instantly in my head…” ( _and do magic_ ) he added, to himself. “I’ve been a freak my whole life. I’m used to it.”

John chuckled.

“Well, my point is, don’t let it change you. Ignore the people who only want to know you because your name is Winchester. Okay? Make your friends from the people who need a Winchester, not the ones who want a Winchester.”

“Always protect people, like Mom and Dean do. I know.”

Sam smiled at John. He looked so much like Mary right then. John’s heart broke a little more. He had Sam, though. He’d won; Sam was here. That had been his goal, his sole focus for years. Making sure Sam got here.

He watched Sam smiling and arranging his things. The boy was literally humming with happiness. A horrifying thought started to creep into John’s mind, and he suddenly realized Sam was never in any danger of not coming. Sam belonged here. Sam knew and had always known he belonged here. John realized he may have destroyed his family to get a goal he was never at risk of losing.

Sam had opened the second to last box, it was a small box, only about the size of two shoeboxes. He slid a wooden chest out of it and carefully placed it on a shelf near the door. He ran his hand over the top and smiled. He opened the latch and pushed the lid back, grabbed his coat down off the hook and took something out of his coat’s pocket and dropped it in. He closed the box, flipped the latch and re-hung his coat. Then he took the last box into the bathroom and started putting his toiletries away.

John walked over to the chest and opened it. It was full of small toys… wind-up toys, puzzles, plastic noisemakers, tiny airplanes, rocket ships, robots, and tops. And sitting on top of the pile, was a small metal model of a black impala. John’s face creased with a frown of curiosity, this box of toys clearly meant a lot to Sam. How had John not known about it? He closed the lid and as he turned to go back to the chair he saw Sam standing at the doorway from the bathroom.

Sam looked distressed at John touching the thing.

“Sorry, I was curious.”

“It’s okay, I guess.” It was not okay.

“What are these for?”

“They’re from Dean, he gives me toys to fidget with when I get…” Sam tried to think of the best way to describe it without giving himself away, “…fidgety.” It was the best he could come up with.

John realized he’d seen Sam playing with some small trinket most of the time, and he’d never thought about it. Dean had noticed something important about Sam and had solved a problem for him that John wasn’t even aware of.

“I’m sorry I snooped. It’s a very nice box of toys.”

Sam relaxed a little.

“It was very nice of Dean to give them to you.” John added.

“Dean takes good care of me.”

John knew that Sam didn’t mean he and Mary hadn’t taken good care of them, but this remark just made him more sure than ever that Sam and Dean needed time apart. Sam was too dependent on his older brother, and Dean’s overprotectiveness had warped him into a Hunter and taken his feet off the path John had set for him. He appreciated that brothers should be close, but Dean had insulated himself and Sammy into a separate family unit somehow, almost like Dean did not trust John to take care of them. This time apart would be good for them both.

“I’m going to head to the bunker, do you need anything else before I go?”

“Nah, I think I’m okay, Dad.”

“Okay I’ll stop at the bursar on the way out and leave you some spending money on your account, to see you through to the winter break, okay? If you think of anything there’s a little grocery and student store down on the first floor.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Sam smiled and gave his Dad a hug. John left. Closing the door behind him, he smiled proudly as he looked at his son’s name on the door. He stopped and left five thousand dollars on account for Sam at the bursar, and then he went to the only room on campus where such things were allowed and worked the portal spell to get to The Bunker.

+++

Sam’s watch started beeping. It was 6:45. He got a little top with holographic foil on it out of the chest and sat down at the desk. He started the top spinning, this one made a little whistling whir when it spun. He kept restarting it when it slowed, watching as the setting sun bounced little rainbows off the foil, while he waited for Dean’s call.

Since his Dad had gone, he’d made the bed and hung all his clothing up. He’d noticed that Dean had somehow managed to sneak a new toy into every left pocket on every piece of clothing he had brought with him. He left them, wanting to have the surprise of finding each when he wore that article for the first time. But it made him less homesick and very happy to feel the weight of a new toy in each pocket.

He had wandered down to the little store and found a few things to stock his mini-fridge with. He discovered that the store stocked coffee and Melita pour-over funnels and filters. He took a set, and a bag of ground Italian roast up to the register, wondering if they’d stop him buying it, the cashier only looked at it and said,

“First year?”

Sam swallowed nervously and said,

“Yup.” Fully expecting to be told he would not be allowed to buy coffee.

“The light roast actually has more caffeine,” She said, looking at the dark roast he was buying, and the nervous expression on his face, “don’t worry about it, coffee is fuel for Men of Letters, no one is too young for it here,” then, she lowered her glasses and looked over them, squinting at him in a way that made him uncomfortable, “and I don’t think you’ll need to worry about stunted growth, Sam Winchester. Go grab a bag of the lighter roast, I’ll wait.”

Sam thought the conversation had taken a weird turn but was too relieved that his coffee jones was not only allowed, it was actively encouraged. He dashed back to the shelf and grabbed the lighter roast and told her he’d take them both.

“Yes, good…” she nodded, approvingly, “a morning coffee and an evening coffee… wise choice.” She rang him up, handed him his receipt and gave him a tote bag to use for his groceries.

Sam looked at the receipt and saw the balance left on his account. His jaw dropped open. That was a lot of money to just leave for him. How much money did his Dad expect him to need for the first term? He suddenly wondered how well the Men of Letters paid. Him and Dean had never wanted for anything, and his Mom had never had to work. The only work she wanted to do was hunting and that didn’t pay at all. But she’d never HAD to work to help make ends meet like a lot of his friends’ moms did. He knew they owned their house outright, and he knew they also still owned Grandpa Campbell’s house, even though Mary’s cousin Karen lived in it. It suddenly occurred to him that they might be wealthy. He shrugged, it hadn’t made a difference before, so he saw no reason why it should now. The only thing different now was that he knew.

Now, as he waited for Dean’s call he wondered if he had enough time to boil some water and make a cup of the coffee. He decided against it. He did not want to risk missing the first ring.

When the phone did ring, precisely at 7, Sam picked it up right away.

“Dean?”

“Hiya Sammy.”

“What happened?”

Dean was quiet for a moment, he’d known John would not have told Sammy what happened, and he’d known that the job would fall to him. The whole drive he’d tried to figure out how to explain it to Sammy. The little nightmare voice in his head was screaming at him to lie for Sam’s protection. But he decided the truth was probably the better path.

“Sammy, they wouldn’t let Mom or me on the campus because we’re hunters. Dad knew they wouldn’t and didn’t tell Mom beforehand.”

Sam was quiet as he thought about this. The only sound was the little top making a whirring noise as Sam kept it going.

“Why?”

“Why wouldn’t they let us, or why did Dad not tell mom?”

“Both, I guess…” Sam said.

“Well apparently hunters are weapons and they don’t let weapons on campus.” Dean had decided that was the best way to spin that, “But… I don’t know why Dad did what he did. I wish I could tell you, but I just don’t know.”

“Is Mom okay?” Sam asked.

“I’m not sure, I don’t think so. She was just quiet and sad until we got here. Then she called him, told him we’d be gone for two nights and he should go home and get his stuff, and not to be there when we got back. After that, she’s just been angry,” Dean took a breath and added, “Sammy… I don’t think she’s gonna let him come home again. She called her cousin Karen to go make sure Dad left and to change the locks after he was gone.”

Oddly, Sam felt a sense of relief, he was exhausted from feeling their constant stress and mistrust of each other. He was glad something had finally broken the storm. He was sad for them at the same time, because he knew they still loved each other, but the stress was killing all of them.

“Where are you?” Sam asked.

“We’re at Bobby’s.” Dean said that like Sam should know who that was.

“Who’s Bobby?” Sam asked watching the top spin as he leaned back in the desk chair.

Dean mentally slapped himself, real world Sam didn’t know about Bobby, only nightmare-world Sam knew him.

As soon as they’d arrived, and Mary had introduced them, Dean found himself face to face with the only safe thing in the nightmare world. He’d greeted the man with a smile of relief, like he was meeting his oldest friend. This was the man who had taken care of him and Sammy, like a father would, in that cursed ‘other life.’ That life that met Dean every time he closed his eyes now. Dreams that Bobby were in were the only good dreams Dean ever had, the only ones where he wasn’t terrified. The only dreams where he felt like someone actually gave a crap about them besides Dean himself. The strangeness of meeting someone from the dreams was not lost on him. But he was still not willing to admit to himself that the dreams meant anything or were in anyway real.

“He’s an old hunter who runs phones, he’s known Mom for forever.” He decided then and there that next time they were together he’d tell Sammy about the nightmares, maybe he could help him figure them out.

In the background Sam heard a gruff voice say,

“I ain’t that old, boy.” As footsteps faded by. Bobby had been surprised by Dean’s reaction to him but found himself liking the kid right off the bat.

“Dean are you hunting something?”

“No, I think we are here only so Mom doesn’t have to be there when Dad gets his stuff.” Dean had lowered his voice, and Sam got the feeling Mom was close enough that she might overhear, “So how is the school so far? What’s your room like?”

“It’s big, I have a kitchenette, living room, bathroom, and bedroom all to myself. And they didn’t stop me from buying coffee at the market downstairs.” He pulled the silver dollar out of his pocket,

“Neat. Have you met any of the other students yet?”

“Not yet. I think everyone is getting settled in.” He kept the top spinning, not really paying attention to it, while he played with the silver dollar, it was too big to walk across his knuckles, but he tried anyway

“Make sure you make some friends Sammy. Don’t bury yourself in the books. Have some fun, Okay?”

“I will, Dean… at least, I’ll try.” Sam wasn’t sure he knew how to make friends. His friends at the public school were just sort of there, he’d known them since pre-school, and since Sam was more often friendly than not, he had a little band of nerds he hung out with. But he did not actually know the steps of how to make friends with someone.

“Just smile when you meet someone new. Don’t worry about saying anything smart or funny, just smile. That will find you your friends.” Dean said, ever observant, especially about matters regarding his little brother. The other step was to listen to the other person, but Dean knew Sam automatically listened, and much more thoroughly than people realized was possible; he didn’t have to give him that tip.

“Sammy?”

“Yah?”

“I can hear that top whizzing.”

The top stopped dead; balanced on its’ point.

“Be careful, okay?”

“I will Dean, it’s just because it’s safe when I’m with you, remember?”

“Okay, but remember where you are, it’s not safe even when we are talking on the phone, even if I was there right now it wouldn’t be safe. You can’t do that there, not at all, okay?”

“Okay Dean.” The top tipped over.

“Hang on, Mom wants to talk to you.” The sound of the phone being handed over was followed by Mary’s soft voice.

“Sam?”

“Hi Mom.” He tried to sound cheerful. He launched into a little recitation of how his room looked, and how excited he was. He didn’t want her to be sad and he hoped if she knew he was fine it would help.

It seemed to make her feel better.

“Sam did your father, uhm, did he explain why I didn’t come in with him?”

“Not exactly, just that he had to go to work. Dean told me though. It’s okay Mom, I’ll see you at Christmas, right?”

“I hope so.”

+++


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas break. Sam finds a friend. John panics and has a moment of extreme John-ness. (there's a sad at the end of this chapter, you've been warned)

Chapter Eight

The Academy, 1992

The first night, after getting off the phone with Dean and his Mom, Sam had gone down to the dining hall and gotten a sandwich and a soda. He sat alone in the corner of the hall. This way, he could watch everyone else. There were only a few kids close to his age, most of the other students were older, probably because it was later in the evening. He’d brought a book with him, but he was having more fun watching everyone, so the book just sat, ignored, on the table.

There was a bunch of people who were clearly in this year’s graduating class, working as a group on a project and drinking endless amounts of coffee. One of the girls noticed him watching and pointed him out to her friend. They giggled. Sam blushed and stopped staring.

The next time he dared to look up from his sandwich it was because he felt someone staring at him. It was a girl, probably about his age, with big round glasses and short red hair. She was staring at him unblinking and wide eyed. She looked a little shocked. Sam quickly checked his stuff to make sure he hadn’t set anything moving on its own. The girl walked over and sat down across from him. Her tray had a bowl of ice cream and a cup of coffee on it.

“You’re Sam Winchester.” She said.

A moment passed. He was unsure how to respond to this, since he did not know who she was, and it hadn’t been a question.

Eventually, her unblinking stare got the better of him. So, he followed Dean’s advice, smiled, and said,

“Yes. I am.”

“My name is Emily Anderson.” She stated. She finally blinked and then started to eat her ice cream.

Sam watched her; her hair was maybe an inch long, combed forward from her crown and bright orange. She had warm, amber brown eyes, and about a billion freckles. She was tiny, she reminded Sam of the pixie illustrations from one of the fairy tale books he owned. She took a book out of her pocket and started to read. It took Sam a minute to realize it was the same book he’d brought with him. He understood now that he’d found his first fellow nerd at his new school, or rather, she’d found him.

“Emily?”

She looked up at him.

“Yes?”

“It’s nice to meet you.” He smiled again and opened his book. They spent their meal enjoying the companionship of reading together.

+++

By the time the Christmas break rolled around, Sam was positive he loved this school. Every subject was fascinating, and he was a natural at all of them, he’d made friends with the entire first year class, and a few people from the other classes. Emily had become his best friend at school, they got in the habit of reading through their meals together, sometimes the same book, sometimes trading books when one had a favorite the other had not read yet. Often, they talked about what they were reading, enjoying another persons’ angle on the same book was like reading it all over again.

Sam was just zipping up his suitcase to take downstairs. He grabbed his coat and scarf, put on his gloves and hat and locked his door. He shrugged himself into his coat, wrapped the scarf around his neck and chin and hurried down the stairs to meet his Dad.

Once they were in the car his Dad had borrowed from work, Sam dutifully answered all of Dad’s questions about how school was going. They hadn’t spoken for a few weeks because John had been busy working on something in Canada. Normally John came out to the school once a week to have dinner with Sam. The first time they’d gone to the dining hall, but that had been awkward for Sam. The other students all seemed to be in awe of his Dad. Even his friends had not tried to sit with them or even come over and say ‘hi.’  With one exception. Emily, of course, saw no reason that Sam’s father should stop her from sitting with Sam and reading. She planted herself next to Sam and opened her book and never said a word. This made Sam more relaxed, but unfortunately, it was awkward for John. After that, John either brought take away, for them to eat in his suite, or took Sam to the nearby town to go to a restaurant.

Once he’d caught his Dad up, he asked the question he’d been afraid to ask,

“Dad are we going to go home?” Sam’s hand was in his coat pocket where he worked the wheels of the tiny impala across his thumb.

John was silent for about five minutes.

“No, Sam. You’re gonna come stay at The Bunker with me.”

Sam sat in a stunned silence. He wasn’t going to get to see Dean or Mom? When he’d gotten off the phone with Dean last night, Dean had said he’d see Sam soon. Dean thought they’d be home, or, at least, that Sam would be.

“But, I thought we were going to see Dean and Mom.”

“Sam, I told you, Mom and I aren’t getting along right now, you know I’ve been living at The Bunker.”

 ‘ _Actually_ ,’ Sam thought with some viciousness _, ‘you didn’t tell me that, Dean did.’_

“But it’s Christmas, I want to see Mom, I need to see Dean.”

“Sam, you’re going to get to stay at The Bunker! Think of all the neat stuff you can see, and books to read. You’ll have your own room, right next to mine, and you’ll get to talk to all the Men of Letters that I work with. We’ll have a big party for Christmas Day. We have a huge turkey every year, and the cook makes every type of dessert you can think of.”

“But…”

“No, Sam. You’re staying with me at The Bunker.” There was a tone of finality in his voice.

After a few more minutes had passed, Sam asked,

“Does Dean know?”

“What does that matter?”

“Does Mom?”

“We are done discussing this. You are staying with me on your breaks and that’s final.” John was not going to risk losing Sam the way he’d lost Dean. Mary could yell at him all she liked, and Dean had no part in this decision. He needed to keep them separated, to keep Sam safe and on his path. Let Mary try to get a lawyer involved, John could easily win any custody battle just by pointing out she drove a car full of weapons around with one of their minor sons in tow. No, John was drawing a line he would not let anyone cross.

The word ‘breaks’ hit Sam like a ton of bricks. Was his Dad saying he wouldn’t ever spend any holiday with his Mom; never see Dean again?

“Dad, please…” he knew he sounded desperate, but he felt desperate. He knew John loved him, surely that included some empathy and compassion.

“Sam,” his tone was softer, “You have to trust me, I’m doing this for your own good. I just need you to be safe, okay? You’ll be safe at The Bunker. I’m not doing this to be mean, I’m doing this to take care of you, please, just let me be your Dad and take care of you.”

“Dad, just one day… please, I need to see Dean.” He had only been able to control the magic from bursting out of him at school because he knew, come winter break, he’d have time with Dean to let it all out, safely. The pressure of not doing it was straining on him.

“Sam, maybe someday, things could change, get better between your Mom and me, but not now. Please, can’t you trust me, like you trust Dean?

“No.” Sam said without thinking, then, feeling this had hurt John, he added “It’s not that I don’t trust you Dad, it’s just I miss Dean so much it hurts. You’re talking like I would be in danger at home. Mom and Dean would keep me safe. I don’t understand.”

“I know, Sam, but think about it like this, I missed you a lot, and I’ve been lonesome and hurting and missing your Mom, too. Can’t you look at this as spending some time with your old man to cheer him up. Can you do this for me?”

Sam thought about this and decided he could, and his Dad had said it might not be forever, maybe Dad and Mom would make it up somehow. He’d still get to talk to Dean, at least.

“I guess I can, Dad. I am sorry you’re sad.”

“We’ll have a good time, you and me.”

“Sure, Dad.”

The rest of the drive was spent in silence. Sam’s hands were folded in his lap as he stared out the window and watched an hour’s worth of Kansas fly by. In his pocket, though, the wheels of the toy impala spun continuously. He couldn’t help it.

+++

That night, at seven, on the nose, alone in the room at The Bunker, Sam called Dean.

“Sammy!??!” Dean’s voice was panicked.

“Dean, I’m okay. I’m at The Bunker with Dad.”

In Dean’s mind that was pretty far from ‘okay’, but he was still relieved to hear Sammy’s voice.

“When are you coming home?”

“I guess, I mean… Dad says I’m staying here with him, he said I can’t come home.” Sam recounted the conversation from the car to Dean.  Dean felt like his head was going to explode. John had played every card he had to insure Sam’s obedience, even stooping low enough to paint himself as the victim. Dean had not thought this would go this far.

“Dean…” Sammy sounded like he was going to cry, “does…did Mom agree to this?”

“No Sammy, Mom is worried sick because he hasn’t dropped you off yet, hang on though, let me go tell her you’re okay.”

“Okay.”

In the distance he heard their voices, then the phone was picked up and his Mom said,

“Sam are you okay?”

“Yes, Mom. I’m at the bunker. Dad says I can’t come home on breaks. He says he needs to keep me safe, Mom. I want to come home. He won’t bring me. I don’t know what to do.”

“Sam, I’ll call him, maybe I can change his mind, here, talk to Dean again.”

The sound of the phone being handed back to Dean was followed with,

“Sammy, you still there?”

“Yah,” Sam answered, “Dean, why does everyone seem to think I’m in some sort of danger. I mean I know why you worry, but why does Dad think I’m not safe with you and Mom?”

“I don’t know, Sammy, I wish I did.” Dean went silent, Sam wondered if he was trying to hear Mom’s side of the conversation with Dad, then he said, “Sam what is that sound?”

Sam stopped the tiny impala that had been driving in circles around the nightstand.

“Nothing… I stopped it.”

“Sammy be careful, doing it at The Bunker is worse than doing it at school.”

“I know, but it’s been so long and it’s building up and I feel like it’s going to burst out of me in a bad way if I don’t let it out safe.”

“I know, Sammy, but it’s not safe there. Listen, can you go outside at all?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask.”

“Well ask if you can go play outside tomorrow, and find a tree to climb or place to lie on the ground and concentrate on letting the energy go into the tree or the ground, okay? Just let it drain off into the world.” Dean had found that in a book at Bobby’s house and made a mental note to get Sammy to try it when he came home.

“Okay Dean, I’ll try.” It was cold here, but it hadn’t snowed yet. He was sure he could find a patch of ground to try it on.

In the background he could hear his Mom’s voice becoming louder and angrier.

“What’s happening, Dean?”

“Hang on, Sammy…”

“SCREW YOU, JOHN!” there was a sound that Sam imagined was probably a cell phone being launched across the room.

“I better go Sammy. Remember what I said, channel the energy into the ground… Call me tomorrow night, and be careful.”

“Okay, ‘bye Dean.”

“’Bye Sammy.”

+++

An hour or so later, John came in to Sam’s room to say goodnight. He was surprised to find Sam still dressed and reading a book. He supposed Sam had figured out his natural sleep pattern after taking care of himself for a few months. He guessed his little boy didn’t really have a bedtime any more.

“Just wanted to tell you goodnight. I talked to your Mom.”

“And?”

“She knows you’re here and safe.”

Sam waited to see if his Dad was going to tell him anything else. John did not.

After a moment or two, Sam said,

“Hey Dad, can I walk into town tomorrow?”

“Sure, we can take a walk.”

“No, by myself.”

“Why?”

“Well I had planned on doing my Christmas shopping at home, I haven’t got a present for you.”

John saw that maybe he could earn some respect and trust back here, and he also knew he could slip a tracking charm into Sam’s pocket, just in case. So, he said,”

“Sure, Son, but how about you walk to town, and let me meet you for lunch when you’re done.”

Sam could not think of an excuse to say no, since this was a perfectly reasonable request. So, he agreed.

+++

The next night, during their phone call, Dean asked Sam if he’d tried the “release of energy” thing.

“Yah, I, uh, don’t think that is a thing I should do again.” Sam answered.

“What happened?”

“Well I told Dad I still needed to buy him a Christmas present, so he’d let me walk to town alone. On the way I found a little patch of scrub grass off on a side road. I lay down, and I concentrated on drawing all the energy out of myself and in to the ground.”

“Did it work?”

“Well, it drained a lot of the energy off, so on that count it worked fine, I feel much less like I’m about to burst and do something stupid…”

“But?” Dean asked after Sam had been quiet for a moment or two.

“Let’s just say that about twenty feet off the road by Miller’s Farm there’s a Sam-shaped blob of green grass and flowers in the middle of a dead winter clearing.”

“Oh…. Crap…” Dean said.

“That’s what I said!” Sam laughed.

“Okay well, I guess you can use that sometimes though, like when it’s spring and summer.”

“Yah, and it did make me feel better,” Sam conceded, “Thanks for that Dean. How’d you figure that out?”

“I found it in a book at Bobby’s.”

“How’s Mom doing?” Sam asked

John happened to be passing by Sam’s door just then and he stopped when he heard this. If he stayed still he could hear through the vent at the bottom of the door. He didn’t want to eavesdrop, exactly, he just wanted to hear how Mary was doing, he told himself.

Dean apparently had a lot to say on this topic, because Sam said nothing for a good two minutes.

Then all he said was

“Oh no... do you think she’ll ever…”

Then more silence.

“I’d like to talk to her… Oh… well tell her I’ll be awake still for a while and she can call me when she’s done, okay? Tell her I love her.”

John felt very much like Sam’s sadness might break his resolve, he knew this was best for the boy, but he felt like the villain of the piece for keeping his son safe. That wasn’t fair. He was only trying to do what was best. He was lost in a little fantasy of somehow figuring out the perfect thing to say or do that would get Mary back, then he heard Sam say to Dean,

“…one day when we are hunting together…”

Without even consciously thinking about his actions John slammed through the door. He was seeing red, he rushed at Sam, violently yanking the phone out of Sam’s hand. Sam jumped back with a yelp, he heard Dean’s voice,

“SAMMY!? What happened?!? Answer me!!!”

John brought the phone to his mouth,

“Do not ever contact my son again.” John said, with a deathly measured calm, into the phone. Then he slammed the phone down and turned to Sam.

“You are no longer allowed to speak to Dean.”

He somehow, still, managed to convince himself that he was doing this to keep Sam safe.

Not to punish Dean.

+++


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John continues to not understand keeping someone safe. Sam finds a solution, and some help.

Chapter Nine

The Bunker, 1992

+++

Sam watched as his Dad left the room. He was so shocked he could not form a thought.

John, in his rage, had laid open all his thoughts to Sam without realizing it. Sam had felt every layer of hurt, every obsession, all the love that was twisting within him; the rage and anger…

Sam knew that John thought he was protecting Sam.

But now he’d seen the absolute deepest, darkest, truth that his father might not even be aware of himself on a conscious level.

John was willing to kill Dean to keep Sam from him.

+++

The phone line went dead. John’s voice still rang in his ear. Panic tore through Dean. He tried to call Sam back. The switchboard refused to put his call through to Sam’s phone.

He tried asking someone to at least check on him and just let him know if Sam was okay, they refused him even this.

Finally, he went to Mary and told her what had happened.

Mary called John’s direct line.

“John?”

“What?”

“Is Sam okay?”

“He’s fine. Anything else?”

“John…” her tone was soft, conciliatory; she was trying to be gentle with him, she knew he was hurting if he was lashing out like this, “please, why are you doing this? Let the boys speak at least.”

“I let you corrupt Dean and turn him into a Hunter. I will damn my own self to hell if I let you take Sam away from me.”

“John, no one is trying to take either of them from you, can’t you see? Dean still needs you, you’re his father. Sam loves you, he wants to be at the school, keeping him from Dean will backfire,” John hung up the phone before Mary could finish her sentence. This was a shame, because it might have worked some sense into his brain, to hear her say, “just like it back fired when my dad tried to keep us apart.”

“Dean,” Mary called to him, he came into the kitchen and sat down. He looked like he’d been either crying or trying hard not to. “Sam is okay. Your dad, he’s just really upset. He’ll calm down.” She ran her fingers through his hair and patted his back, “It’ll be okay.” She said, hoping she wasn’t lying.

Dean felt like the nightmare world was starting to bleed into his real life. Nothing was ever going to be okay again.

That night, he wasn’t sure if he slept or not. Either side of his life, waking and dreaming, was equally horrible.

Christmas Day, 1992, was the first day in his life since Sammy had been born that Dean did not talk to his little brother.

+++

Sam tried, and succeeded in making his dad believe it was fine, all was forgiven, and he promised not to talk on the phone with Dean. He was terrified of what he’d seen in his Dad’s mind when that dam had burst open on him. If the only way to keep Dean safe was no phone calls, then that’s how it had to be. He’d find another way to contact him. He’d thought the first night about running away, going home, but he knew that that was the first place Dad would look for him. John would be even more angry by the time he caught up with Sam.

He was pretty sure letters mailed from the bunker would be intercepted, he thought about sneaking in to town and mailing something directly at the post office counter. The Men of Letters couldn’t possibly track or intercept that, right? They did not work with the government, did they? The fact that he could not be sure worried him, if he was wrong and his Dad found out…

Occasionally, things seemed normal to him again, over the holiday. His dad would be calm, even jovial, once the mental bricks were all back in place. Sam wondered if he’d imagined it. That terrifying moment when he knew that his Dad was capable of being angry enough to hurt his own son. But if Sam accidentally mentioned Dean or alluded to something Dean had done, he felt that shimmer of vicious anger come off his Dad again. It was physically painful for Sam to feel that anger, so he learned, pretty quick, to stop reminding his Dad of Dean.

+++

The Academy, 1993

As soon as Sam was back on campus, and his Dad had left him alone in his suite to drive back to The Bunker, He started to think about who he could ask for help at the school. Mr. Ranunculus seemed the obvious choice. He’d always been friendly and helpful, even if he couldn’t help Sam, Sam at least knew he could be trusted not to tell John that he’d been asking for help. Emily, of course, was another good option, she might know something or have an idea, and he trusted her the most of everyone at the school.

Once he’d taken a shower and put on clean clothing, he went down to the resident assistants’ offices and told the front desk that he’d like to speak with Mr. Ranunculus. After a few minutes he was ushered back to the office.

“Ah, Sam, yes I knew you’d be in.” Mr. Ranunculus said. Sam’s hope level dipped a little… if he was expecting Sam that must mean John had stopped in and laid down some edicts.

“You did?”

“Yes, your father stopped by. He’s demanded that we block your phone from receiving calls from, or making calls to, certain numbers.”

“I see.” Sam said. His hope drained away faster.

“Of course, we did not. This is a ridiculous thing, that we are not in the business of policing.”

Sam lifted his head, a little optimism returning.

“Especially since he told us you had promised NOT to speak on the phone with the person, and a Man of Letters is a man of his word.”

Sam understood, the school wasn’t going to block him, but they expected him to honor his promise to John, on his own.

“Yes, I understand.” Sam said. He got up to leave.

Mr. Ranunculus cleared his throat.

“Sam, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I do wish I could help. And if you think of any way I can help that does not negate your very **well-worded** promise to your father, please let me know.”

“My… what?”

“You gave your father your word you would not talk on the telephone with your brother, yes? Well, if there is anything I can do that does not renege on your honor, please let me know. Thank you for stopping by, my next appointment is here. Good day and welcome back to school.”

Before Sam realized it, he’d been rushed out of the office, and into the hallway.

He went over to the shop, he needed to re-stock his little kitchen. He was deep in thought as he filled his basket, there had to be a way to fix this. As he was being rung up, the cashier, whose name was Molly, asked him if he was okay.

“Yah, I’m just mulling over a problem,” he gave her a weak smile.

“Sam, did you know that the journals you keep here are given to the library for future generations when you graduate? There are journals going back generations. The first year of everyone’s student Journal is often the most interesting.” Molly always managed to say some weird, tangential, thing to him, but he felt like he should pay attention when she did. She handed him his bag and receipt, “Have a nice day, Sam.”

He thanked her. As he left he noticed from his receipt, that his Dad had also stopped at the bursar on his way out. He was now the proud owner of close to ten thousand dollars he could never possibly spend in a year, let alone a term. Was his Dad putting this much money in his account to buy his loyalty? How much did he think stuff cost? Sam shook his head a little. Then he went back upstairs and put his groceries away. Then he grabbed the book he’d bought for Emily when he’d gone in to Lebanon and made his way to her suite.

She opened the door when he knocked. She unexpectedly hugged him and smiled at him,

“Sam! I am so happy to see you! I got you THE BEST CHRISTMAS present.”

“Wow, you are really happy.”

“Yah, I missed you a lot. My family is just… so…” She made a little shudder, “…familial. Coming back to school is a massive relief, plus you’re the first best friend I’ve ever had. I didn’t realize how much you miss them.”

“Well, I missed you a lot, too. But there is no way you got me the best present, because I got you the best present.”

“We’ll just see about that.” She held out what was clearly a wrapped hardcover book. It was identical in size to the package he held out for her.

“I feel like we…maybe…” they each peeled the wrapping paper back carefully, Sam laughed, “We did… we bought each other the same book.”

They looked at their matching copies of the new Douglas Adams book, _Mostly Harmless._ Emily giggled,

“Well at least we won’t have to wait to borrow it until the other person finishes.”

Emily opened her copy and started to read, moving to swing sideways and drop into the easy chair. She expected Sam to sprawl out on the sofa like normal. Sam stopped her from reading though, when he said,

“Emily, I have a problem and I need to talk to you about it, I was hoping you’d help me think of a solution.” Then he came clean. He tried his best to stick to fact and not let any emotional embellishment creep in to the narrative. But at the same time, he wanted to make sure she understood how freaked out he’d been and why. He included his weird interview with the RA, and his fear that letters would be intercepted. The only thing he left out, was anything about magic. He was 99.9% sure that Emily would keep that secret for him. However, he knew that asking her to keep this secret would get her in trouble if he was ever found out. As much as he trusted her, he also cared what happened to her and he couldn’t do that to her.

Emily took his book and hers and set them down on her coffee table, then she grabbed his hand and pulled him to the door. She took her cardigan off the coat rack and dragged him out of her room.

“Where are we going?” Sam asked.

She dragged him back to his room, opened his door, reached her arm in, and grabbed his cardigan off his coat hook. She closed his door. She shoved his sweater at him and put on her own, and Sam knew they were headed to the library.

The library at The Academy was the coldest room in the entire school. Even at the tail end of summer when they’d arrived, it had been freezing. If you saw someone bundled up or wearing a massive number of extra layers, it was a good bet they were going to the library.

When they got there, Emily asked the librarian if there was a good book on spirit boards that might cover using them to speak to the living. Sam suddenly remembered Molly’s words and asked if he could be allowed to see his Fathers’ student journal. The librarian asked him which year, Sam asked for the first two. The librarian asked him if he wanted any of his other ancestors’ journals. Sam said,

“How far back do you have?”

“Well, in this building we have all of them going back to the seventeen-fifties, if you want anything earlier than that you’ll have to special order it from the main archive. Same for yours, Ms. Anderson.”

Emily blushed and shook her head.

“Just my Dad’s, thanks.” Sam said.

Sam turned in surprise and looked at Emily, as the librarian left to go get their requests.

“Your family… they’re founders too?”

“Yes, didn’t you know that?”

“No.”

“My parents gave me a list of the other founder legacies in our class and told me I was only allowed to make friends with them.” This surprised Sam, Emily did not seem the sort to be snobby, “So, of course, I decided to never speak to any of you. Because who needs that snotty clannish attitude? But then I saw your book was the same as mine; you looked so quiet and nice. You looked like you were friendly, but like you knew it was okay to be with someone and not talk. I decided I wanted to be friends with you before I realized you were one of them. That’s why I only said ‘You’re Sam Winchester’ when I realized who you were… I was upset that I’d found a possible kindred spirit in someone my family would approve of.”

“Well, I am very glad you did. But you know, you shouldn’t judge people by their ancestors. You might like the other founder kids too.”

“I know, and I do like some of them, after all… just not as much as I like you. You’re exactly the best friend I needed, Sam Winchester.” She smiled at him. “Even if you are a founder’s legacy.”

The librarian came back with their books, and they found a table section where they could sit across from each other. Emily also grabbed them each a few pencils and some pads of scratch paper to take notes.

She dove right in to the first book.

Sam looked at the two leather bound volumes before him. They were aged, the leather was well worn, and the front was embossed in silver with the name _‘Master Jonathan Eric Winchester’,_ other than these slight differences the journal was identical to the one he’d been given on arrival to document his first year. They would not change his to just say “Sam Winchester” on it. They said full names were required on journals. This was to differentiate his work from any Sam Winchesters before him and any others who might come after him. Samuel was a common enough name. Even though he, himself, was named for Samuel Campbell, there were four other Samuel Winchesters who had been here before him.

He unhitched the clasp and opened the cover. His Father’s handwriting was very much the same as it had always been. Maybe a little looser, but still neat and exact. A lot of it was about the classes, the same classes Sam was taking now. But there was a considerable amount about his Mom. It was mostly about how much he wished he could write her and how he really felt the need for someone to confide in, and he knew she must feel the same way. He was happy that she’d admitted she was friends with him before he’d left for school, but heartbroken after he realized they would not be able to get letters to each other.

Sam’s heart was aching. How could his Dad do this to him and Dean, when he literally went through the same thing? There was one page where Mary’s name was circled in red ink, and in the margin was a call number circled in the same red, with a pencil line through it. Sam realized it was the Dewey decimal code for one of the books Emily had in her stack. His Dad must have been trying the same thing he was… a way to contact someone without magic or detection.

He peeled that book out of Emily’s stack saying,

“Hang on, I think I found something.”

The book was called _Communication Devices_. He opened it up to the table of contents and saw a tiny red dot next to one of the chapter headings.

_Portable_

This book clearly did not go in for flowery language.

 He looked at the checkout slip and sure enough, his father had been the last person to check this book out.

He turned to the chapter and riffled the pages until he saw another small red dot. The page was labeled, simply,

_Messaging Boxes_

Sam read the description and realized why his father had crossed out the call number in his journal. It required inborn magic to build the boxes. But it made a set of two, pocket sized, boxes that would only open for the intended recipients. If anyone else opened the box it would be empty. They were warded, undetectable by other spells, and had the bonus of letting the user know when the other person was dead. Your message would not send if the recipient no longer existed. This feature appealed to Sam because if Dean was hunting Sam would know he was okay even if he could not respond right away. He would have to figure out how to get it to him. And he needed to decide about whether or not to tell Emily about this.

The boxes were mostly wood working and sigil carving, and a little directing his magic at something. This sounded a lot like Dean’s ‘channeling it into something’ trick.

He looked up at Emily. She was making notes on something she’d found.

“Hey,” he whispered.

She looked up.

“I found something, I need to talk to you though, someplace private.”

They took their books back to the librarian’s desk, Sam checked out the pertinent volume, and they returned the rest. Sam would have liked to take John’s journals with him, but the legacy journals were not allowed to leave the library. He’d have to come back and read it there later.

They hurried back to Sam’s room. He made them some coffee and started a fire, to try and warm them up. Once they were cozy and sitting in the easy chairs, Sam hesitantly asked Emily,

“So, if there was a secret about me, that if you knew it, might get you into trouble… would you want to know it? Or would you want to be safe?”

“What, you mean about your magic?”

Sam had never experienced hot coffee shooting out of his nose before… he did not care for it. Emily calmly handed him a tissue from her pocket.

Coughing and sputtering he gasped out,

“How did you know?”

“Because Sam, about a week after we met you were so comfortable around me you stopped playing with whatever it is you keep in your left coat pocket to fidget with when you’re nervous. A week later you started playing with it without touching it. I could hear it clicking and spinning.” She could see the panic on his face, so she added, hurriedly, “Don’t worry, you only ever do it when we’re alone and you feel comfortable. I would never tell anyone.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Emily shrugged,

“I knew you’d tell me when you were ready.”

Sam felt relieved that she knew. Then he felt something else… like he wanted to show her what he could do.

He reached into his pocket and took the tiny impala out. He set it on the table and sent it around the edge in a circuit. Emily’s face lit up. Sam had never had someone be impressed by this before. Dean had been proud of Sam’s progress in controlling it. The one time he’d used it in front of his parents they’d freaked out, according to Dean. Sam didn’t really remember their reactions clearly. No one had ever thought it was neat before.

He stopped the car.

“Emily, I found a solution. It’s perfect, but it takes the magic to make it. And I need your help to get it to Dean.”

“I’m in.”

“It might be dangerous, you could get in trouble or expelled”

“Okay. Don’t care.”

“Really?”

“Sam, would you do the same for me?”

“Of course,” Sam said with no hesitation.

She gave him a pointed look.

“Oh, yah… it is nice to have a best friend.” He smiled.

He showed her the page with the instructions on it, she read it in silence for a few minutes, then looked at him,

“So… we need some wood-working tools,” she looked at him and he answered her unspoken question with a slight nod. Grampa Henry had given him a small carving set for his birthday last year, “and some Lobelia, which I think we are allowed to take from the class apothecary for our specimen drawing class… I’m assuming you’ll be taking apart that box Dean gave you to cover the wood and the something that has meaning to you both.”

“Yah, that’s what I was thinking. I’ll need something to move the… stuff… into.”

“Well use a desk drawer for now, we’ll get you a replacement box later.”

They stayed up late formulating a plan. After Emily left, Sam went to bed, feeling much more hopeful than he had since Christmas Eve.

+++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just adding a note here about John. 
> 
> When I say John is being John-like, I mean that his innate behavior is that he thinks he is doing things to keep his family safe, but he is bad at it, and doesn't understand how to fix it. This is established canon.
> 
> The basic personalities are still there, Mary is still somewhat stoic and cautious, Dean is still protective, and Sam is still a bundle of nervous energy, brains, and nerdy-ness, and John is still not good at seeing where his actions are leading.
> 
> I don't want to add the tag "John Winchester's A+ Parenting" because that tag seems to belong to a certain sort of abuse and neglect story (which I am not knocking, as a genre, and some of them make some valid points), which is not what I am writing. John wants his family safe and together, he just can't figure out how to do it.
> 
> I am just trying to take the same characters, their established personalities and brain wiring, and seeing how two changes in the timeline would play out.
> 
> If you think I should add the 'A+ Parenting' tag and can support it with reason, please comment. I really don't want to be mistagging, or have someone annoyed because they weren't expecting it, or miss someone who might like this story but searches for that tag.
> 
> I have the story blocked out all the way to the end, and when I add a chapter, the next two or three are waiting to be edited, And John's behavior is going to get worse, and things are going to spiral up a bit. It is fair to say John continues to be bad at things.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's solution works.

Chapter Ten

Lawrence, Kansas. 1993

+++

A week later, Emily left the School grounds with her parents to go home for a visit over the weekend. Her parents had found out she’d made friends with Sam Winchester and they tried to convince him to come along. Emily told them Sam wasn’t allowed to leave campus unless his father took him, so they stopped pestering him.

Sam felt himself blushing, he hadn’t known Emily had figured that out.

He knew how much spending time with her family irked her. Both her parents came from long lines of legacy Men of Letters, her mother’s family were founders. She loved the school and her heritage, but her family tended to be exclusionary and snobbish about the order in a way that rankled Emily to her core. One of the things she liked most about Sam was not only did he not think his lineage made him better than anyone else, he also did not think anyone else’s lineage made them better by default. So, this favor, that she was doing for him, was huge on many levels.

Emily patted her pocket and gave Sam a wink, and said,

“See ya Monday, Sam.”

+++

Five days later the mail carrier left a small parcel in the Winchester mailbox addressed to Dean.

+++

Under any other circumstances, in a normal family, you would call Dean’s behavior typical teen moping. He had barely left his room in days, and he was refusing to talk to Mary in a meaningful way, only lying and telling her he was fine.

He ate, he took showers, but mostly he lay on his bed and listened to music and hoped the phone would ring or someone somehow would get word to him that Sammy was okay. He had formulated at least five different strategies of getting onto the campus, or close enough to watch out for him at least. The number of ways he’d thought of to get to The Bunker and confront his Father was slightly higher.

Out of frustration, one day about two weeks after New Year’s Day, Dean tried to call the school again, and was surprised when the switchboard operator said,

“Please hold,” instead of denying him and hanging up. Hope flared through him, until a voice that was not Sam took the call off hold.

“Is this Dean Winchester?” the voice sounded friendly, possibly even helpful.

“Yes.”

“Ah yes, hello. I’m Mr. Ranunculus, I’m the resident assistant in charge of your brother’s class.” Dean felt a wash of panic… had something happened to Sammy? Was this man going to tell him something awful…?

“Is Sam… is he okay?”

“Oh goodness me, yes, he’s fine. Tell me Dean, are you a man of your word?”

“Yes sir.”

“So is your brother. Fine young man, he is. Good to know that runs in the family. Your brother promised on his honor not to speak to you on the phone,”

Dean was confused, why would Sam do that?

“I do not know the particulars. However, it would probably be for the best if you did not try to call the school anymore, for your own safety.” John Winchester had been very clear about not wanting them to speak on the phone, and after speaking to Sam, he’d realized the promise had been extracted via a perceived threat. “I believe your safety is Sam’s motivation for making this promise. I’d advise you not to try to call again.”

“I understand.” Had John threatened him with harm to Dean? What the hell…?

“Also, please note the promise was specific to phone calls. Good day, young sir.” There was a click and the line went dead.

 _Specific to phone calls…_ Dean sprung off the bed, pulled on his robe, stepped into his slippers and ran out to the mailbox. There was only one thing in it, a small hard package with handwriting he didn’t recognize.

Across the front of the package was his name and address, under his breath he said to himself,

“Is this from Sammy?”

He turned it over, on the back under where the sealed flap met the body of the mailer, there was a smiley face drawn in purple glitter ink.

What the fuck? He tore the mailer’s flap open and a slip of paper and a small wooden box came out. He opened the paper and in the same glittery ink, found the following information

            “ ** _Hi Dean,_**

**_My name is Emily, I’m your brothers’ friend. He asked me to send this to you._ **

**_I hope you are not as sad as Sam has been, but this should cheer the both of you up._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_Emily Anderson._** ”

Dean had heard all about Emily, even done his big brother due diligence in teasing Sam about having a little girlfriend. He ran back in the house,

“Mom, Sammy sent me something.”

Mary looked up from the book she was reading,

“What is it?”

Dean sat down next to her and took his first good look at the box. There was a round sigil with a symbol he did not recognize on the front, and some writing carved into the sides, he knew the Latin part was “Living Spirit” but he did not know the other languages around the other three sides. On the bottom of it there was a small symbol carved around his initials.

He felt around and discovered how the box opened, he slid the cover forward, expecting to find a message of some sort. There was only a tiny pressed flower lacquered to the bottom.

“Lobelia,” Mary said. “Witches use that… what did Sam send you? I don’t understand.” Concerned, she looked at the note from Emily, which shed zero light on the subject.

“I don’t know, Mom.” Disappointment flooded through him. The box made no sense, and even though it was clearly for him, it held no clue as to why. Sam hadn’t even included a note. “Maybe it’s something he made in a class?”

“Oh, I suppose so. Well, maybe he sent it to you, so you’d know he was all right?”

“Yah, that’s probably it.” Dean was more confused than anything now. But he kept that to himself and took the box back upstairs.

As soon as he’d closed his bedroom door, there was a tiny chiming sound, so soft he barely heard it. It sounded like it had come from the box. As he sat down at his desk, he slid the lid open again.

This time there was a folded piece of paper. Sammy’s handwriting greeting him; “Dean” was written on the top.

He lifted the paper out and unfolded it.

            _“Dean, we can’t talk on the phone anymore, I will explain more about that in my next message, this is just a note to explain about the message boxes. The first thing I need you to do though, is burn the envelope. If she included a note, even after I told her not to, you must burn that too, I won’t have her getting in trouble for helping me._

_Here’s how these boxes work: You just place a note in your box, close it and flip it over, that’s it. If I am alive the note will leave your box and come to mine. The box can only be opened when you are near people you trust, and any note you receive will only appear when you are alone._

_So, you could open it to send me a note when you are with Mom, for example, but you won’t see any note I’ve sent unless you are alone. If anyone else tries to open the box, they won’t be able to._

_They are warded and secure and no one can trace them. It’s supposed to make a sound when you are alone and there’s a message, but I could not test it to see if that worked._

_Also, I’m sorry, but I had to use the wood from the toy chest you built me. It was the only thing I had that was usable to build the boxes from that was important to both of us. It was one of the requirements of the spell.”_

Sammy had run out of room, and that’s how the message ended. Dean got up and took the note from Emily and the envelope downstairs, Mary had gone to get some tea, so the incinerator in the kitchen was not an option. Instead, he crumpled them up and threw them in the fireplace. Then, he dashed back upstairs.

He closed the door and sat down at his desk. He took a piece of paper out of one of his notebooks and tore it in half. Then he took out a pen and wrote,

_“Sammy, I am so relieved to hear you are okay. I’m worried about you getting caught doing these boxes, though. Please be careful. I miss you. Explain the phone call thing to me asap.”_

He folded the note up, placed it in the box, and slid the lid closed. He flipped the box over and there was a sound like a paper airplane hitting a wall, and when he opened the box again it was empty. He closed it again and waited.

After about twenty minutes, the box chimed again. Dean opened it and took out a new note.

_“Don’t worry about the boxes, I went as far from the building as I am allowed when I channeled the magic into them, and it works like a charge up. They don’t ever make a trackable magical signal once they are charged up. The book says they stay charged for twenty years. Basically, they have all the magic they’ll ever need, and I didn’t get caught so we can use them as much as we need to and not worry about it._

_About the phone call thing…Remember how I told you I can hear the surface stuff going on in your brain? Like the stuff about being hungry or tired? Well, at some point I realized I was hearing that stuff from Mom and Dad too. I never told you, because it sort of felt like I was invading their privacy, and not really my stuff to share with other people. Plus, it wasn’t anything you probably weren’t getting off them through body language, because that’s how you always listen to that same stuff, Dean. That’s how you knew to help me with the toys._

_I promised Dad I’d not talk on the phone with you because when he hung up on you, his mental barriers broke, and I saw everything. Including something deep in him that scared me. I saw that he would hurt you, even kill you, to keep me away from you. I don’t think he admits this to himself, but it was there, and it scared the hell out of me, so I promised. I need you to be safe just as much as you need me to be safe._

_I’m not sure if I am allowed to call or talk to Mom, and I guess you probably shouldn’t tell her about me making these message boxes, she’d only worry. But try to find out if she can call me, I miss you both so much.”_

Dean’s face was wet… he’d been crying. Sam was so scared and homesick for him and Mom. Dean wrote a note back promising he’d see if Mom could call him. He tried to come up with some way to let Mary know Sam was wanting to talk to her, without giving away that Sam had used magic to contact him. After a few minutes he had an idea and sent Sam another message. He instructed Sam to send him a note that he could show to Mom, asking for Mom to contact him and letting her know he was okay. He told Sam he’d take care of the rest.

After a few minutes Sam had followed Dean’s instructions. The note said

_“Mom, I had to promise Dad I wouldn’t talk on the phone to Dean. I’m safe and back at school, but I must keep my promise. Can you call me please? I miss you and I want to talk to you. I did not promise not to talk to you.”_

 Dean took the note downstairs and said,

“Mom there was something in the box after all, there were two little notes wedged up under the lid, one for me and one for you.” He handed the tiny scrap of paper to Mary.

She read it and immediately went to the phone. How had John gotten Sam to make such a promise? It was unbelievable to her that such a thing could have been done without some sort of threat.

“Sam?” Mary said, as the line was picked up.

“Uhm… no, sorry. Hang on.” A girl had answered his line. Mary’s eyes went a little wide at this. Then she realized this must be Emily, the writer of the glittery note.

“Is this Emily?”

“Yes.” There was the sound of the phone being handed to Sam.

“Hello?” He knew it would be his Mom, but Emily had been reading in the desk chair and was closer to the phone than Sam and had picked it up without thinking.

“Hi Sam,” Mary smiled at the sound of her youngest son’s voice. “Tell Emily I said thank you for helping you.” There was a slightly muffled exchange, Mary caught what sounded like Sam telling Emily in an exasperated voice that he’d told her not to put a note in it, and a sarcastic little reply of _‘pfft…whatever, you knew I would anyway.’_

Then Sam said to Emily,

_‘You could have gotten in trouble’_

Mary interrupted with,

“Your secret is safe with me, I won’t let anything hurt your friend, Sam.” Sam knew what this promise meant coming from his Mom and felt glad that Emily now had that particular layer of protection.

Mary turned to Dean and mouthed the words _‘burn that note,’_ Dean indicated that he already had, with a nod to the fireplace. Mary gave Dean’s knee a pat.

“Thanks Mom. Did Dad say if I can call you? I only promised not to talk on the phone with Dean. But I got the feeling he wouldn’t be too happy if I called home at all. I miss you.”

Mary did not give two craps about what John thought on this topic. She responded,

“Sam you can always call me, no matter what. I’ll even let you speak to Dean.” She started to hand the phone to Dean, and they both heard the panicky fear in his voice when he yelled,

“NO!” terror at what John might do if he found out Sam had spoken to Dean on the phone flooded through him. Emily noticed the lower left-hand drawer of Sam’s desk had started to make a lot of interesting noises. She gently kicked his shin and tilted her head towards it. The noises stopped.

Sam composed himself and said,

“No, Mom, I promised, I have to keep my word. Just tell him about our phone calls, let him know I’m safe and I miss him. Okay?”

“Okay, Sam. I tell you what, I will call you every Sunday at seven o’clock and we’ll have a catch up. And you call me whenever you need to talk to me, about anything.”

“Thanks Mom. I love you.”

“I love you too, Sam. So does Dean.”

When Sam hung up the phone after goodbyes were said, he tried to hide his face from Emily. He didn’t really want to cry in front of her. But he knew that if she had one ounce of empathy showing on her face, he’d burst open. She kept her nose in her book for several minutes and finally, without looking up from the words, she said,

“You can cry in front of me if you want to. I would. But if you’d rather I leave, that’s okay too. But don’t hold it in, let it out.”

This was enough to make him let it go. Emily, wisely, just let him cry it all out. Eventually she went over to him with some tissues and a hug. Then she made them some coffee, giving him a few minutes to blow his nose and clean himself up. After she brought their mugs out, she went to the lower-left desk drawer, and removed a tiny red metal robot from the pile of toys. She set it on the coffee table, next to his mug. She said to him,

“I’m here if you want to talk, and I am here if you don’t. And if you would rather I was someplace else right now, I can do that too.”

After a few minutes, Sam’s face had stopped being red and puffy. He cleared his throat, and said,

“Stay, please, and we can talk, but can we talk about something…anything…else?”  Sam had a way to talk to his Mom now, and a way to talk to Dean. He was unsure why the phone call had affected him so hard. He thought maybe it was just a release of the intense stress he’d been under that had made him cry. Emily thought for a moment, and decided Sam needed to have some geek time. Nerdy talk fixed everything for her, so it followed that it would for Sam, too.

“There’s a new episode of _Quantum Leap_ this Tuesday, you want to meet me at the lounge to watch it?”

“Of course,” Sam answered.

Emily started talking about paradoxes, altered timelines, and time loops and soon Sam was cheered up as they discussed one of their favorite shows. The toy robot on the table took one, little, tilting step un-aided. Then Sam picked it up, remembering his promise to Dean, and just played with it in his hands, while Emily helped him chase away the last of his stress.

+++


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to town is bittersweet for Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for some reference  
> A supper club is regional US midwest name for a banquet hall, basically a place that hosts weddings and parties, as well as having a regular dinner, often with a live band and dancing. 
> 
> They were really popular in the 1930's and 40's, and back then you'd go there for an entire evening out. Drinks, dinner, and dancing. A lot of them are still in business today, although not all of them still run as traditional supper clubs, mostly just renting out for events.

Chapter Eleven

The Academy 1993-1994

+++

The first Spring break was hard for Sam. Not only was he not allowed to talk to his brother, His father insisted on being in the room when he talked to Mary. The message boxes were used frequently, but he missed the sound of Dean’s voice. Also, he was missing Emily. John had offered to arrange for her to visit, but her parents had taken her and her baby sister to France for the break.

The first Summer at the bunker was the worst. It was hot outside, oppressively so. Sam went outside and away from the temperature-controlled bunker a few times. But only when he wanted to go to Lebanon for something, making a stop on the way in some field to drain off the built-up magic.

His routine had settled down into a new normal. He missed his Mom. He missed Dean. He lived for scraps of contact with them. He tried his best not to anger his Dad, and the stress of that made his nervous magic energy grow at a crazy rate. He kept his promise to Dean and got much better at not having slip ups. When he was at school, Emily was helpful in this. She came up with an ingenious way for him to literally burn off the excess energy during the winter. Once Sam had explained Dean’s energy drain to her, she realized he could probably channel it off into a fire as well. So, Sam had a fire going in his grate constantly, but, over the winter, only used about three logs total. He just poured a controlled stream of energy into it, and that burnt off before the wood did.

Sam’s room suddenly became the place to warm up after a trip to the library, small groups were often sitting around his living room, reading, talking, doing homework, drinking his coffee and eating his food. He didn’t mind, they were his friends, and his Dad kept dropping increasingly obscene amounts of money into his account. Having a cluster of friends around made him feel less alone; not less lonesome though, because no matter what, he was always lonesome for Dean.

+++

The Academy 1994

The Spring that Sam turned eleven, his Dad relented and allowed Sam permission to leave campus and go into the nearby town un-chaperoned. John did not know why, but Sam had not even hinted at Dean’s existence to John in a long time. John felt like he’d won that battle. So, most weekends, Emily, Sam and one or two other friends would wander into the small town. It was where Academy staff who did not live on campus had houses. There was a coffee house, a movie theatre, a bookshop, and a few other little stores. There were about five or six little restaurants, a greasy spoon diner, and one supper club. The businesses in town were happy to cater to the schools’ students, since for the most part, they were a group of polite, quiet, nerdy kids who had money to spend and slim pickings on where else to spend it.

That Summer, Sam only stayed a few weeks at the Bunker. John was sent on an assignment overseas, so Sam was gifted with the school library to call his own for almost two months. He took the time the first few days back on campus, to read through all of John’s school journals. After the first two or three volumes, John had stopped writing anything personal in them. It was like he’d suddenly realized his progeny might see these and kept them strictly school-topic-related. Sam read them anyway, scouring them for glimpses of what might have made his father act the way he did. The only thing he found was a notation he had made when John had decided to read Grandpa Henrys’ journals. It was a scribbled afterthought at the bottom of a page of notes he’d taken down from Henry’s last journal, the one he’d have filled in during the year before he’d been accepted into the order in full. It just said,

“This reminded me of that nightmare I had where my Dad never came back.” That was pretty much the last personal thing John had written in his journals.

Sam decided he’d check out that Journal of Henry’s the following day. It was late, and he wanted to walk into town. The dining hall only had a limited selection over the summer, and Sam didn’t feel like making anything in his suite.

An hour later he was full of a diner hamburger and sitting in the cool darkness of the movie theatre. He’d bought a ticket for _The Fantastic Four,_ which he’d already seen, but snuck one screen over so he could watch _The Crow_. He felt a little bad about sneaking around like that, but for him the “R” rating was meaningless. He’d written his last term paper on darker stuff, and his brother was currently exorcising demons one state west of him. He did not feel like the rating system applied to him. Plus, he was curious to see how they had handled losing the star during filming.

A few other groups of people came into the theatre. Two of them bumped his chair’s back as they walked behind him to find seats. He kept low in the seat. He was obviously not old enough to be in this movie theatre, and he was clearly alone. Reacting to other patrons would only get him in trouble. The previews started. The first one was for a dark looking horror movie about werewolves starring Jack Nicholson. When they showed a small scene of the wolf itself, Sam let out a little yelp of inappropriate laughter. Werewolves didn’t look like that.

Dean’s head shot up. He’d been about to laugh at the werewolf makeup himself, and he’d opened his mouth only to hear Sammy’s distinctive laugh. He lunged forward and saw Sam smiling and shoving popcorn into his face.

“Sammy?” he hissed over the back of the seat next to Sam. Sam’s head swung around, for a split second he was afraid he’d been found out and was about to be kicked out of the theatre.

“Dean!!” He jumped up and launched himself, gracelessly, over the back of his chair, Dean caught him as he almost fell flat on his face,

“MOM!” Sam grinned at Mary

“Sam!” She smiled at him, and then said, seriously, looking around, “Is your father here? Should we go?”

“No, I’m all by myself,” He found himself crushed by hugs and firmly placed in the seat between them. “Dad finally told them it was okay for me to come into town by myself. He’s in England for the Summer, so I came back to school early.”

It was not a coincidence they’d come here to see the movie, Mary had hoped to call John, and try to meet with him. After two years, she had hoped she could talk some sense into John. Maybe they had enough distance now, that cooler heads could prevail, and they would be able to work all of this out. Dean really wanted to see this movie, and it was the closest theatre to Lebanon that was still showing it, so she’d promised him they’d stop on the way to Lebanon to see it. She hadn’t known John was out of town. She’d been waiting 'til they had gotten there to call him, sure that her proximity would entice him to meet her. She’d been hoping they’d at least get to see Sam, since she thought he was at the bunker.

Dean, of course, had known Sam was back at school. But Sam had not yet spoken to Mary about his return, so Dean could not mention it without explaining how he knew. Dean hadn’t told Sam about Mary’s plan, because Dean did not think it’d work, and he didn’t want to get Sammy’s hopes up. He hadn’t expected to see Sam in the theatre though. At first, Dean couldn’t stop smiling. He caught himself checking out of the corner of his eye every few minutes to make sure Sam was still there.

Mary held Sam’s hand the whole time. Sam, wise little eleven-year-old that he was, let her. He understood. He also didn’t think Dean was aware of how often he’d patted Sam’s leg like he was verifying that Sam was a solid thing.

The movie soon caught all their attention, it was beautifully shot and tragic in plot as well as in reality, because of Lee’s death on set. Dean worried it might be too dark for Sammy, but to Mary it was not any darker than real life. If Sam was going to be scarred by this movie, the things he was learning at school were useless. When the film was over, Mary left to go to the bathroom and give the boys some time to pretend they hadn’t been crying.

“Sammy, when do you have to be back at the school tonight?” Dean asked, as soon as the house lights came up. His brain was happily jostling with the promise of getting to explore the little town with Sam and his Mom.

“The gates close at eleven pm,” Sam checked his watch, so not for a few hours, it was only seven-thirty or so.

“Awesome, we can go have dinner together at that little diner across the street!” Dean said happily.

Even though he was still full of his pre-movie meal from that very diner, Sam let the thought of getting to have dinner with Dean and Mom spend a few happy moments floating around his brain. Then, he realized, that of course they could not. Sam could not even be seen leaving this theatre with them. The town was full of Academy staff and Men of Letters. To be seen with Dean here was to put Dean in immediate danger.  Honestly, he should not have even sat with them, anyone might have seen them. He especially should not have launched himself over the seat and shouted Dean’s name. He could only hope the other few people in the theater either had no affiliation to the school, or at least had no clue that Sam Winchester was not allowed to be with either of these people.

Dean watched as his brothers’ expression grew dim.

“Don’t say it, Sammy… come have dinner with us. Please?”

“It’s too dangerous. What if Dad found out?” Dean could hear a crinkle of fear in Sam’s voice. He silently cursed John’s name. How could someone scare his own kid this bad?

Mary returned then. She’d known as soon as they’d seen Sam, that they could not be seen together leaving this theatre. If she had thought Sam might be back at school, she never would have stopped this close. She didn’t want anyone to get the idea, and report back to John, that Mary was trying to get to Sam or take him from the school.

“Sam come give me a hug goodbye.” She said.

“Mom, can’t we take him across the street for dinner?”

“It’s not safe, and you know it’s not safe.” Mary answered Dean.

And he did… but he missed the kid so damned much, he suddenly felt very annoyed that the movie had taken up all their time together.

“I should go, I guess.” Sam said miserably. He started walking towards the exit to the left of the screen, rather than risk being caught coming out of the wrong theatre, or with Dean and Mom. Dean grabbed him and hugged him fiercely,

“Stay safe, we’ll fix this, I promise.” Even though Dean didn’t know if they could, he couldn’t leave the kid with no hope.

Mary wrapped her arms around them both, happy and heartbroken at the same time.

Sam walked to the exit and left. If he looked back he’d start crying, so he did not. Too many people would notice Sam Winchester walking back to school crying.

Dean watched until the sharp slice of golden sunset from the exit had reduced itself to a sliver, and then disappeared as the door closed.

He felt relieved because he’d gotten to see him, but nothing was fixed. Nothing was better.

He turned and followed Mary out of the theatre and over to the diner.

They ate silently, both thinking of Sam trudging, alone, back to the school.

+++

 The following term, Emily returned to school taller than Sam. Only by about an inch. She was still stick thin, but somehow over the summer she’d caught up to and surpassed Sam in height. She was clearly self-conscious about it, Sam could feel that radiating from her, so he made sure not to make a big deal about it. He was just glad to see her. The first night she was back they sat and had a nice long talk about their summers. Sam told her about getting to see _The Crow_ with his Mom and Dean. He’d had some time to get over the pain of not getting to really talk to them much, happy at least he’d got to see them. But Emily could tell he’d been heartbroken, and she felt awful she hadn’t been there to comfort him.

Another change in Emily that summer was she’d discovered boys, and then two days later, discovered girls. She was still sort of processing that. She’d been out with some friends and suddenly she had discovered that the older brother who had driven them to the mall made her heart flutter. She was having a bit of a struggle with that, since clearly, he was too old and out of her reach entirely. But he looked awfully nice in his tight tee-shirt, he smelled pretty, and his smile was so very smiley. Alas, she was just the nerdy friend of his kid sister.

Then, two days later she’d seen an episode of _My So-Called Life_ and fallen irretrievably in love with Claire Danes. She wasn’t sure if that was okay. She didn’t have anyone she could confide in about this at home. And getting a chance to talk it over with Sam was all that kept her from cracking up the last month of the break. She knew Sam would not judge her, he might not have any helpful insight, he’d probably be just as clueless as she was about it. But being able to talk it all out in Sam’s judgement-free space was what she needed the most.

And so, their first night back together at school, they stayed up all night and talked about everything that had happened, and what it all meant. Sam felt better when he woke up the next day, because Emily had helped kick start his optimism into running again. Maybe Dean was right, and they could fix this, and if not, Emily had pointed out, the law of the land said he would be a grown up in six and a half more years. And then his Dad could, (as Emily put it) go fuck himself.

Emily woke up the next morning feeling like it was a super power to be able to love everyone, because that’s how Sam had made her feel about it. When they met to go to the dining hall for lunch that afternoon, they both had much less worry hidden behind their smiles.

+++

 


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has feels and almost does something stupid. John has feels and doesn't do something stupid about them.

Chapter twelve

+++

The Academy 2000-2001

Mary’s attempts to get John to relent were useless, if anything she felt like she was making him angrier about it. She tried several times over the next five years. He seemed to hinge everything on Dean becoming a hunter, paying no heed to the betrayal he’d dealt her. She refused to apologize for who Dean was, who he needed to be, for his own sake. But she tried again and again to make herself available and willing to discuss what had gone wrong between John and her. He couldn’t see it though, and it always came back to Dean betraying him and his fear that they would take Sam from him.

+++

The Academy. Fall Term, 2000

When Sam arrived back from The Bunker that year, Emily was waiting for him. She had spent the last few weeks of her summer at the school. Her attempt to bring home her first girlfriend, Annie, had gone over like a lead balloon. Annie had broken up with Emily three weeks later. Emily had cried for days on end, her heart broken. She had been sure Annie was the love of her life. After hours of her Mother’s tortured sobs about that nice boy she’d been dating last winter, and her father asking her for the umpteenth time, if she could love boys too, why didn’t she just love boys? The only relief was when her sister, Gretchen, sarcastically answered this with,

“Or girls? I mean, you just want her to pick one, right?”

Then her Mother had crossed the very end of all the lines and said,

“Why don’t you date that nice Sam Winchester?”

Without another word, Emily had packed her bag and driven herself back to The Academy.

When Sam arrived, they had settled in to have their, now traditional, all-nighter to talk about their summers. All the rest of their gang of friends knew not to bug Sam and Emily the first night back. So, they had Sam’s room, his coffee, and his snacks all to themselves. Sam had finally got his height advantage over Emily back the previous year, but he’d added on to that over the summer and now towered over her.

Emily had finally let her Mom bully her into getting contact lenses, so now her big golden eyes were much more noticeable. Sam had never really noticed how pretty and oddly colored they were before, like amber marbles with the sun shining through them. And she’d let her hair grow out for the first time over the summer, Sam was surprised to find out that it was curly. It was still short, but now it clung in small, soft ringlets around her head.

As the sun was setting behind her, Sam had a view of her profile, lit from the sunset melting through the window past her head. The cherubic halo of russet curls, her big warm eyes, the freckles on her slightly rounded cheek, her lips were full and pink; they looked like they’d be soft… Sam’s heart gave a massive thump in his chest. The thought of kissing her flew through his mind.

He stood up and, true to form for seventeen-year-old idiots everywhere, since time began, who have just realized they are in love with their best friend, he did something stupid and tripped over his own coffee table.

She jumped up and caught him before he could smash his head open on the corner of the desk. He could feel her touch in a way he never had before. He looked down at her, he smiled, his dimples came out full force. His head was feeling floaty, how was it possible he’d never noticed how perfect her perfection was before?

Emily looked up at him and said,

“Sam?”

He caught his breath; her voice sent a thrill he’d never felt before through his very soul; she’d said his name a million times before, but this time it made him feel like he could fly. Had she felt this shift too?

“I’d tell you to sit down before you fall down, but I think you just fell down FROM sitting down.” She shoved him back into the sofa.

He landed on it with an,

 “OOF”

Then she started telling him about Annie, and her parent’s reaction, and Sam felt like a jerk. Of course, she didn’t feel that way about him, or anyone. She was heartbroken over Annie. No matter how he felt now or how she felt about him, he was her best friend. His job here was to listen and help her through this. So, he did.

His feelings were his problem, not hers.

Emily fell asleep, with a tear-stained face, on Sam’s sofa hours later. He covered her with one of his blankets and managed to get a pillow under her head without waking her up. He put a box of tissues and a bottle of water on the table for her. Then he went and lay down on his bed. He left the door open a little in case she needed him.

He tossed and turned. Trying to come to terms with the discovery that Emily was the most perfect person on the face of the earth. He wanted her to be safe and happy, that this pain had touched her was killing him. He couldn’t get his mind to stop racing, when suddenly from the living room he heard her say,

“Sam, cut it out!”

He got up to investigate, she was looking at him with one annoyed eye opened. On the coffee table next to the water, a small collection of his toys, anything he owned that had eyes, were lined up, and, if they could sit, were sitting and watching over her. The drawer they had been in was open, and more were walking towards her.

“Sorry,” he said breathlessly. He stopped the ones that were still moving and swept them all up into his hands and moved them back to the drawer.

“That was sweet, Sam, but also super creepy.”

“I just want you safe and happy, Emily. I was thinking about how I wanted you to be protected and it sort of came out that way.”

“Okay well don’t send your creepy mechanical army to watch me sleep. You can take care of me and keep me safe without your little friends.” She smiled and yawned and started to drift back to sleep.

Sam was lost completely… he had no clue what to do about this. He walked back to his bedroom and took out a little pad and a pen.

+++

Dean was dead asleep, covered in something else’s blood, and he was arranged with extra pillows to keep his calf elevated and immobile. Mary was one room over, having helped him get cleaned up a little and stitching up the cuts all around his calf, before returning to her room to clean her own wounds.

Neither of them had any idea what the hell that thing was, but it had closed its “mouth”, that would be better described as a tunnel full of teeth, on Dean’s leg before Mary had been able to get the machete through its arm, drawing its attention and making its mouth open to release Dean. Dean had then spun around and slid his machete cleanly through the neck as he pulled his injured leg clear. The thing had twitched a little but was clearly not going to get back up.

They took pictures of it to send to Bobby, so he could look it up. Dean realized he should also send pictures of it to Sam. He do it in the morning, when he could get to a copy shop and use their printer. He’d taken some pain killers, washed them down with a shot of whiskey and then passed out.

He managed to stay passed out for a few hours. Then he heard a little chime sound and grabbed the message box off the nightstand. That sound was so soft, but it always woke him up, no matter how out of it he was.

He thought he had taken enough painkillers to keep the nightmare world away for one night, but it had been non-stop Sam and John arguing, Dean caught in the middle, trying to keep the peace, in skeezy motel rooms, as soon as he was asleep. A lot of his nightmare world now was tense hunts where he was worried about Sam, John was yelling at them both, and Sam was picking fights with John. For some reason the nightmare-world Dean was trying to get Sam to get along with John, instead of telling John to fuck off and standing up for Sam. He did not understand it; in the real world, he’d never do that.

When he woke up to the chime it was a relief. He turned on the light with an awkward stretch of his arm, keeping his leg steady. He slid the note out of the box.

_“Dean, I have a problem. I think I fell in love with Emily. What do I do?”_

“Ha! I was right!” Dean gloated. His pain forgotten because Sam needed him.

He wrote back right away, telling Sam to give him more details so he’d know how to help him the best. He spent the next hour or so, back and forth with Sam, asking questions and giving a little advice but mostly just letting Sam get it all off his chest. In the end he’d written Sam one final note for the night,

_“You’re right, just be her friend. She might never feel differently about you, but she already thinks you are great, knows she can trust you, and loves you. And that’s pretty awesome on its own.”_

Twenty or thirty minutes passed, and Dean had almost dozed back off, when the box chimed again.

_“Thanks, Dean. That helped”_

+++

The Academy, Spring Term. 2001

The first day of May, the day before Sam turned eighteen, Mr. Ranunculus called Sam into his office.

“Ah,” He’d greeted Sam with a smile and a handshake, “hello, Sam.”

“You asked to see me?” Sam was smiling, he’d been happy all day, eagerly looking forward to seven pm tomorrow night, when he planned on calling Dean and hearing his brothers’ voice for the first time since that day at the movie theatre.

“Yes, I wanted to discuss a few things with you. First, as you know the last two years you spend with us are for you to focus on research having to do with your major area of study. You haven’t chosen one yet, and you’ll need to do that. This will also determine where you are placed for your two years of field work once you leave here.”

Sam opened his book bag and took out his form,

“Here, I finally made my decision last night, and filled it out.” He smiled and handed it over to Mr. Ranunculus. He’d chosen ‘Sigils and Wards’ as his focus.

“Ah… excellent…” he examined the paperwork, “Oh yes, you’ll be very good at this, fine, fine…” He entered some information into his computer. Then he looked back to Sam and said,

“There is also the matter of your birthday tomorrow, you will be turning 18, yes?”

“Yes,” he said, a giant grin spread over his face.

“Sam,” Mr. Ranunculus took a serious tone, “Please remember the wording of your promise.”

“What?” Sam couldn’t believe his ears, was he being told they expected him to keep the promise he’d made once he no longer had to answer to his Dad?

“A Man of Letters is a man of his word. There was no time limit on your promise as I recall.”

“This is crazy.” Sam rose to leave, but was stopped instantly when Ranunculus said…

“Of course, if you believe that Dean is no longer under any threat of danger from your father… but of course it is not my place to interfere. Although it might be a thing to consider that possibly a young man of eighteen could maybe discuss the promise with his Father and ask for release from it, but that’s just me… so sorry to have taken so much of your time have a good day.” Sam found himself outside the office, he wondered how Mr. Ranunculus always managed to offer a solution while simultaneously and efficiently removing Sam from his office.

He was right of course, Sam being eighteen did not magically stop his Dad from wanting to hurt Dean. Nothing was changing tomorrow, except his age. He was crestfallen.

He wandered back up to his room. He called his Dad.

“Hi Dad.”

“Hey Sam, what’s up?”

“I chose my major. Sigils and Wards.”

“Wonderful, I knew you’d pick that or ancient languages.”

“Yah. Hey Dad, you feel like maybe going out tomorrow for my birthday?”

“Really? I’d figured you and your friends would be having a party or something,” John said.

“Well we are, but tomorrow’s a Wednesday, so we are having a party on Saturday, one of the other kids has the same birthday, so we’re gonna go into town and take over the supper club for a party.” Sam paused, hoping his Dad would agree.

“Then sure, I’d love to see you for your Birthday. When does your last class get out tomorrow?”

“Four o’clock,” Sam answered

“I’ll pick you up at five, that should give you enough time to clean up and be ready?”

“Yah, Dad, I’ll see you then.”

Sam was going to get out of this promise, no matter what, but he wanted to gauge John’s mood and reaction and he couldn’t do that over the phone. He had only ever been able to read one person that clearly over the phone, and he hadn’t been allowed a phone call with that person for nine years.

+++

His Dad took him out to the nicer of the two Italian restaurants in town. After they had ordered, and John had finished jovially grilling Sam over his decision process about choosing Sigils and Wards and not Ancient Languages; Sam took a deep breath and said,

“Dad, do you ever want to talk to Mom anymore? Like try to fix things?” A cold wave of loneliness flowed out of John. Sam understood that. John was an attractive man, and Sam had seen the way women watched him and occasionally flirted with him, but he also knew that John never felt any interest in anyone but Mary. At least his feelings about Mary hadn’t twisted into anything frightening or angry. Sam felt like this was a good sign.

“I do, but I can’t. I don’t think she wants to have anything to do with me. She calls once in a while and tries, but I don’t know what to say or do to make it better, Sam. I’m sorry.” Sam was a little shocked by his candor. He never expected John to lay his feelings about it out like that.

“Plus,” John continued “It’s been over nine years, it’s probably too late to fix it.” He was miserable over this and Sam could feel it. John took a pull off his beer. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Their food arrived. Sam mulled over whether to continue with his plan or not. His Dad was so sad about Mom, maybe pushing him about the promise was a bad idea.

Why did being a family have to be such a challenge? Other people got it right. He looked around the restaurant. They were surrounded by happy families celebrating; couples lovingly marking anniversaries, young people getting engaged… why was his family so cursed that they could not fix this? In the end he decided he had to try.

After they were both done eating, Sam steeled his nerves and said,

“Dad, I’m eighteen now.”

“Yes, you are, son.” He smiled with no small amount of pride. Sam was a fine young man, and he was going to be a perfect addition to the Men of Letters.

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about…” Sam could sense that actually saying Dean’s name might not be wise, so instead he said, “releasing me from my promise.”

“Your promise?” A little bubble of anger popped in John’s head, Sam felt it, but continued anyway.

“Yes. I have kept my word, faithfully, for this entire time. I gave you my word when I was only nine years old, I’m eighteen now, and an adult. But I am still aware of the wording of my promise, and I am a man of my word. So, I am asking you to, please, release me from it.”

John thought about this. Sam held his breath. He could feel that molten thread of anger that ended in Dean being dead start to wind through his father’s thoughts, but to Sam’s amazement, John tamped it down and said, calmly,

“I’ll tell you what, Sam. Once you are done with your field work, initiated into the order, and assigned to your chapterhouse, I will release you from that promise. Deal?” John extended his hand to shake on it.

Sam went a little deeper into John’s thoughts than he had ever voluntarily dug before, looking for the trap or the lie these words might contain.

All he found was John thinking, in a continuous loop, _‘He will never be a hunter, he’ll be safe. Dean can’t get him killed, he’ll be safe, Mary can’t take him away from me, he’ll be safe,’_

Sam took his hand and shook it,

“Deal,” he answered. Sam felt ecstatic, this had not gotten him his desired result exactly, but it had gone much better than he had feared it would. Sam, however, knew enough not to look too overjoyed about it.

+++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean came to me in a dream last night and told me to let you know he'd decided that the "tunnel of teeth" should hence forth be known as a "Wormpire".
> 
> I told him that was lame, but he insisted with such a look of self-satisfied glee, that I relented and promised him I'd add a note about it.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam Arrives at his Chapterhouse assignment.

Chapter Thirteen

Northern California Chapterhouse, Palo Alto 2005

+++

The first day of June, Sam arrived at his assigned chapterhouse. He deposited his suitcases and checked to make sure that all his shipped boxes had arrived.

Then he turned and walked out the door. He’d been given a new hybrid car as a graduation/initiation present. He climbed back in it, even though he would rather not be driving anymore right now. He went to the first cell phone store he could find. He sent what would, hopefully, be the last note he’d ever have to send using the messaging box.

He went into the store, bought the most expensive phone and all the accessories he could find for it, as well as the most expensive and inclusive plan. When you were initiated, any funds left over in your school account and your salary for your field work were transferred into your bank account. Nothing had made Sam as happy as spending a giant wad of John’s guilt money on a phone to call Dean with. He hadn’t realized he had such a vindictive streak in him, but he’d been looking forward to this phone call since he was nine years old.

He went next door afterwards to get some coffee to go. Then he went back to the chapterhouse and plugged the phone in to charge it up. The chapterhouse had a phone, of course. But it was important to him on many levels, that, even indirectly, John pay for this phone call.

He was one of three Men of Letters who were assigned to live on-site at this chapterhouse. One of the other men was a mystical object specialist, and only a few years older than Sam. His name was Anthony. The other member was a much older guy, name Pete, who specialized in mapping and tracking, like John did. They each had a suite of rooms very similar to the dormitory set up at the academy, except they each had a full kitchen set up. The ground floor was taken up with their shared working space, the second floor was Sam and Anthony’s suites, and Pete had the top floor all to himself. A few other Men of Letters worked with them but lived in their own houses, with their families, or in offsite apartments because their assignments were temporary.

Sam’s head was hurting a little, probably from the long drive. He went into the bedroom and drew the curtain closed. Then he kicked off his shoes and flopped down onto the bed. He set his watch alarm for 2 hours. He just wanted a little nap.

+++

Dean heard the chime go off just before he got out of the impala. He stopped for a second and contemplated sitting back down and answering the message before going inside. He’d been expecting a note from Sam telling him he’d arrived safely on his drive from Kansas to California, and the timing was about right for that. He decided that it was a ninety percent probability that’s what it was, and Mary was already on the porch waiting for him before going in. The demon was waiting inside, and they needed to take care of that. He decided Sam’s message could wait five minutes. This should be easy; Rufus and Bobby were already waiting for the signal to go in from the back. Four against one would be a quick job.

Dean eased the car door closed as quietly as he could and joined Mary on the other side of the door. Dean did a count of three and made a slight whistle. They all rushed in. It was the strangest thing any of them had seen. A host-less demon, just a puddle of writhing black smoke, was curling around itself in the center of the floor. It made no move towards any of them. They were all wearing various anti-possession protections. Rufus had a charm and a hex bag, Mary, Bobby and Dean all had tattoos, so it’s not like it could take any of them.

“Hunh.” Mary said.

“What the fuck?” Dean said.

“You weren’t kidding, I owe you a beer…” Bobby said to Rufus,

“I told you. Why is it you never believe me when I tell you this shit, Bobby?”

“I believe you, I just like to see for myself.” Bobby shrugged.

“That is the exact opposite of believing me, dumbass.”

“Guys,” Mary said, stopping the older men from bickering more, “what do we do with it… I mean can we even exorcise it? Does it need a host for that?”

Dean sprinkled some holy water on it. It hissed and sparked and bubbled, but otherwise it did not move.

Rufus said,

“We may as well find out,” and started performing the ritual. The demon seemed to get agitated, so much so that for a moment they thought it was going to work. But when Rufus was done, it just settled back down.

“Is it in a trap?” Dean looked around to see if he could find a trap drawn either so large they were missing it or on the ceiling or something. He knelt next to it and tilted his head to see if he could find a small one underneath it. The smoke rippled and shifted towards him, he sprang back.

Suddenly they had company

“LEAVE HER ALONE!”

They were thrown back. A demon in a male host had appeared holding a tied up unconscious girl, the demon ripped the gag from the girls mouth and the smoke on the floor was in her in seconds. The girl broke the bonds on herself with ease and the fight began, in earnest.

Dean was their first target. They jumped him, slamming his head, face first, into the wall behind him. Mary started performing the ritual and Bobby and Rufus rushed forward with salt coated iron chains to hold the demons steady. Once the exorcism was complete, Mary rushed to Dean.

“He’s breathing, but he’s out good, we should get him to a hospital.” Rufus fireman-carried Dean to the impala and placed him in the back seat as carefully as he could.

Mary drove off to the closest town, Rufus and Bobby following in Rufus’s truck.

+++

Sam woke up with a gasp. As nightmares went that was pretty vivid. Sam did not normally have memorable dreams or any nightmares to speak of, not since he’d been a little kid. He checked his watch, he’d missed his alarm. It was getting dark outside.

 His head was still killing him. It hurt so bad he thought he might throw up. He ran into the bathroom and got a hand towel wet with cold water and slapped it on the back of his neck. He waited to see if he was going to need to puke, but his stomach started settling and his headache was fading. He peeled off his clothing and got in the shower. Trying to scrub the nightmare away.

As he was drying off, he heard his desk phone ringing. He grabbed his robe and put it on as he went to the living room. It was his Dad.

“Hi, Dad.’

“Well I guess you got there safe, how do you like it?”

“It’s nice so far.”

“You good?”

“Yah, just a little tired from the drive.”

“How did that car handle?”

“Really good, and it gets great mileage. I really like it, thanks Dad.”

“Good,” John was silent for a minute, then he said, “Sam, I know you’re going to be calling Dean. If you haven’t already. And that’s fine, a deal is a deal, but please, don’t let him take you off course. You’re good at what you do, you’re smart, and the Men of Letters need you. Don’t get sucked in to their world. Please, stay safe.”

“Dad… this is what I want to be doing. I’ve always wanted to do this. But if my information can help them be safe too, shouldn’t I be sharing it?”

John stopped his gathering anger, cold. All those years ago, had Sam meant helping Dean and Mary hunt as a lore man, as a Man of Letters? Was that what he had meant by hunting with his brother?

“Just promise me you’ll be safe and careful.”

“I will Dad.”

As soon as they had said their goodbyes and hung up, Sam went and grabbed the messaging box out of his coats’ pocket. He hadn’t heard it chime, and he’d never slept through it chiming before. That nightmare had been so intense though, he wondered if he had. He’d slept through his alarm, after all.

He slid the lid open, his note was gone, so Dean must have gotten it, but he hadn’t responded yet. It was a bit longer than Dean normally took to respond, but it wasn’t unheard of. Sam figured he was busy on a hunt or maybe having a little fun with a girl. It wasn’t like it was an emergency.

Sam took a bag out of one of his suitcases. He’d stopped at the first town big enough to have a mall on his way out of Kansas and bought the first pairs of jeans he’d owned since he was nine.  He’d bought four pairs, some sneakers, and a few tee-shirts. He’d still be wearing a suit and tie most of the time, because that’s what you wore to work in as a Man of Letters. But in his off time, he was no longer required to deny himself the comfort of denim and spun cotton. He cut all the tags off and got dressed. Then he grabbed the messaging box, his keys and wallet. He took the cell phone off the charger and turned it on. He grabbed the bag of accessories he’d bought for it and the instruction manual. Then he drove downtown and found a little taqueria.

He staked out a table on the restaurant’s patio, making sure he was far away from any other patrons, so he’d be able to get Dean’s response out of the box. When the waiter came, he ordered some carnitas and a beer. Then settled in with the instructions and started setting up his new phone. He had a list of numbers to add to it in his wallet, and Emily’s was the first on the list, and the second person he planned on calling from it. But he didn’t add the numbers in yet. He wanted Dean’s number to be the first one he put in. He was happy. He had the job he wanted, doing something that really mattered to him. It was a beautiful summer evening in California, he had a beer and some tacos on the way, and soon he’d be talking to Dean. As far as he was concerned, life was awesome.

+++

_Life sucked. After John had disappeared last fall, he’d gone to get Sam at school, and this had led to a massive shit storm of demons, now Dean was in the hospital, bleeding from his head and dying…and to top it all off, his car was totaled._

+++

He woke up, relieved to see Mary and a much less ICU-looking hospital room than the one nightmare Dean had been in. He’d been trapped in the nightmare world since his head had slammed into the wall. Mary noticed he was waking up and called for the ward nurse.

“Hey Dean, stay still,” she said gently, “You got bashed in the head pretty bad, but you’ll be fine. You have a pretty nasty cut on your forehead, but you’re gonna be okay.”

The nurse came in and took his vitals, checked his pupils, and helped him sit more upright. She had him do the pain scale, offered him some painkillers and brought him some water to take them with.

Mary told him she was going to go get some coffee and something to eat now that he was awake, but she would be back as soon as she could.

“Mom, hand me my coat please, before you leave.” He took the coat from her.

Once she was gone he got the messaging box out and slid the lid open.

The note just said

_‘send me your cell phone number’_

Dean smiled and searched his pockets for his notebook and pen. He couldn’t find them… they must have fallen out.

“Crap.” He said. He dug through his pockets but the best he could find was a stubby mini golf pencil and a half a receipt from a Gas n Sip. He scribbled his number on it and sent it.

He pulled out his cell phone from his coat. And waited.

The screen lit up… “Unknown Number” flashed on it.

“Sammy?!”

“Dean!”

“What the hell? How are you calling me?”

“I got a cell phone, save the number to your contacts, okay?”

“I will, and you know that’s not what I meant…”

“Dad and I made a deal, once I had my chapterhouse assignment, he’d release me from my promise. I didn’t tell you, partly because I wanted to surprise you, and partly because I was worried he’d go back on it somehow.”

“I’m so happy to hear your voice, Sam… So, are you at your new digs?”

“No, I’m out. I just finished eating dinner and I’m having a beer.” Dean looked at his watch, they were in upstate New York, so it was only about eight in the evening where Sam was.

“So, tell me about the drive and the place… I want to hear everything.” Dean didn’t care what Sam said, at this point, he just wanted to learn the sound of Sam’s voice, now that he wasn’t a little kid.

They were still talking a half an hour later when Mary returned, she was surprised to see Dean grinning, with his phone plastered to his ear. She mouthed,

“Who’s that?” at him

“Sam, Mom’s here too, do you want to say Hi?”

Dean handed the phone over.

“Hi Sam!”

While Mary listened to Sam explain about the cell phone and his freedom to call Dean now, Dean just grinned like a fool. In his head, he was already planning a drive to California.

+++

After he got off the phone with Dean he put the rest of the numbers he had into his phone. Dean got the first spot on his speed dial, Mom got the second. Emily got the third. He gave John the fourth slot. Once he had them all programmed in, he called Emily and they had a nice long talk about their respective trips to their assignments.

Emily’s had been a massive comedy of errors that included accidentally stealing someone else’s car, because it was identical to the new one her parents had bought her.

She had discovered the hard way at a rest stop on the turnpike that the key worked in all of that model’s ignitions.  The door of the wrong car had been left unlocked so when she’d tapped the unlock button on her key fob, she didn’t notice the beep had come from the car next to the one she was opening the door of. She just got right in. She even thought it was funny, as she pulled away, that the car one space over was the same. Once the mix-up had been resolved she drove her car to the nearest dealership and demanded that they re-key her car and install a coded lock upgrade. So, she’d been stuck in a little town in Ohio for a week while they fixed it.

Her specialty had been Spells and Incantations, and she had achieved her dream posting of being sent to replace a retiring Spell specialist in Salem, Massachusetts. They’d already made plans to have a trip together once they were settled in and could take a few days at the same time. Sam told her all about his call to Dean. Emily smiled and told Sam she was heart-glad he’d gotten to talk to his brother. Sam missed her so much, and he tried to tell her that without sounding like a lovesick idiot. If Emily had ever grokked how he felt, she’d never given him any clue. So, he continued to keep it to himself.

+++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regional note, in case it's not a thing where you live:
> 
> A taqueria is a small, normally family run, Mexican restaurant. It's not like a fancy themed restaurant that serves watered down versions of Mexican food alongside a selection of bland "American" food. 
> 
> A taqueria is where you go to get the good stuff, street style tacos, fish tacos, carnitas, lingua, menudo and, often, house-made cotija and queso fresco. Most of them make fresh tortillas onsite. Along with this, they serve Mexican beers, Mexican coca-cola, horchata and Jarritos
> 
> They are all over the place in most towns and cities in California, as well as most of the western and southwestern United States. In the San Francisco Bay Area you can't swing a cat without hitting one.
> 
> They are very friendly places too, Think "the local pub" only it's run by an Abuela who thinks you are too skinny and need more food.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam slips up at the chapterhouse.

Chapter Fourteen

Palo Alto, California. 2005

+++

Most of the Palo Alto chapterhouse work had to do with cataloguing artifacts. Sam’s job was to examine them all and look for signs and symbols that might be unknown, then try to decipher them. If he could not, he had to make a detailed report on each to file with the object. If he could decipher them, he had to write up an even more detailed report, a risk assessment of how dangerous the item was, and any possible ways to neutralize the danger.

Chris, one of the members who lived offsite, was tasked with curatorial care of the objects, so it fell to him to package them up safely and either send or escort them himself to The Bunker. When he was going to do a run to Kansas, they would wait until there were several items that also needed to go, and he’d make the trip.

 Chris was waiting on Sam to finish with a spear the field team had found in the last excavation, so he could pack it up.

Chris did not really care for Sam. Sam was nice enough, and he was good at his job. But Chris never really liked the founding family legacies. He always felt like they were wearing their privilege like a banner. Sam was never going to mess up bad enough to lose his job. He’d never get sent to some shit assignment as punishment for fucking up. Plus, as if to rub it in, Sam was friendly, smart, good looking, and everyone else seemed to love him right away. Nothing in Chris’s life was ever that easy. Even this assignment was crap compared to Sam’s. Chris had begun his field work the year Sam had started school. He’d been sent around to different chapter houses to learn about curatorial care of objects from every Man of Letters already doing the job.

He knew everything from how to make the strongest curse containment boxes, which was interesting and what drew him to the specialty, to how to get a roll of packing tape started without driving yourself insane. Most of his job was boring, and the worst part was the weeks of driving around to chapterhouses to fill the van up with artifacts that could not be shipped. It had taken him seven years of hard work to get assigned to just one chapterhouse. And once they had worked through this backlog, there was a good chance he’d get reassigned, and be back to having to courier for the entire west coast again.

Sam, conversely, had been instantly handed a plum, permanent assignment with living quarters onsite. The second he’d left the school, he was set for life, and shielded from consequence by his heritage. Chris had a hard time not visibly seething with envy every time he had to deal with Sam Winchester.

Sam, for his part, could feel that Chris did not like him, but all he could think to do was just be professional with him. Not everyone was going to be his friend and he knew that.

As he finished printing the report that had to be included with the spear, his cell phone started to ring. It was Dean, he picked it up and said,

“Hey Dean, give me a second I’m just finishing something up.”

He didn’t want to keep Chris waiting.

Once the printout was finished he signed and initialed where he needed to and placed the report in a warded folder and handed it to Chris.

“Here you go, have a safe trip.”

Sam grabbed his phone and walked out to the front porch,

“Hey, Dean, what’s up?” Sam settled himself into the porch swing. He took the toy impala out of his pocket and set it on his thigh. He still carried it with him everywhere. Along with the silver dollar Dean had given him so long ago. He didn’t normally fidget with the car when he was around other people, but for so long it had been a subtle and safe thing to channel the magic at, while it was in his pocket, that if he did not have it with him he slipped up and did things people might see. The coin he kept handy in case there were people around and he needed to fidget with something a grown man might fidget with, without raising others’ eyebrows.

As he spoke with his brother, he pushed the little black car up and down his thigh with a finger.

“Mom and me are gonna stop and look into something. We might not be there when we said we would. It could be nothing, but there’s enough weird that we feel like we should check it out.” Dean told him.

“What do you think it is?” Sam figured there was probably more to it than Dean was letting on. He pressed harder on the car, feeling the wheels digging into his leg as he moved it back and forth.

“Well, I think it’s a witch. Mom isn’t sure it’s anything.” Dean answered, “We’re in Washington, so if it turns out to be nothing we’ll probably be there on Thursday, as planned. If it turns out to be something, I’ll give you a call.”

“Okay.” Sam stopped touching the car, he kept his hand close in case anyone came into view, but he let himself send it up and down his leg with some of the buildup. He was going to have to go take a hike soon, so he could channel the magic off. He’d not had a chance since he’d gotten here, and he was worried the buildup of energy was contributing to the frequent headaches he’d been having.

“Hey, Sammy, when I get there, I need to talk to you about something. I think I need your help figuring something out.” Dean had decided that he would talk to Sam about the nightmare world once they were there. It was getting worse. It was so vivid now, he wasn’t sure sometimes if the waking world was even real. He couldn’t really talk about it over the phone.

“What is it?”

“It’ll keep until I see you, it’s not an emergency. I’d rather talk about it once we’re face to face.”

“Okay.” Sam switched his phone onto his other ear, it was getting warm from use. The car continued to drive itself back and forth on his thigh, “Do you have a paper and pen handy? I can give you the address of the restaurant for Thursday.” He wanted to take them out to the taqueria he’d found that first night. Dean and his Mom shared his love of spicy food, he couldn’t think of a better meal for their first dinner together since he’d been a kid.

“Yah… uh… no… hang on,” There was the sound of Dean rustling through his duffle. Sam entertained himself by making the toy impala turn a figure-eight.

“Okay Sam,” Chris said as he Came through the front door with the packaged spear. Sam slammed his hand down on the Impala and jumped up.

“What was that?” Chris said, his eyes were wide.

“Oh,” Sam sputtered, and awkwardly waved the toy car in front of him. “Just a little good luck thing I carry around,” He’d completely forgotten Chris was still here, let alone that he’d be leaving through this door. He hoped Chris hadn’t seen the toy moving on its’ own. Unfortunately, the reactions you would expect to a grown man playing with a tiny toy car and the reaction you’d expect from a Man of Letters witnessing telekinesis were about even. Unless of course a fellow member was the one doing it.

“Okay, well, I’m off then.” Chris said, his eyes narrowed slightly. “I’ll be back in a few days.” He walked out to the armored and warded van. He loaded it up and drove off. As he pulled away from the chapterhouse, he thought about how much he hated Sam Winchester. He’d known what he’d seen. That stupid little car had been moving on its own. A grown man playing with a toy car was ridiculous enough to begin with. But a Man of Letters who happened to be a witch… well, that was one thing his precious legacy founder heritage couldn’t protect him from.

+++

Back on the porch Sam watched Chris drive off. He was panicking a little… had Chris seen him moving the car?

“SAM?!” Dean had been saying his name on the phone to no response.

“Dean… shit …” Sam replied finally, “I… fuck, one of the others… I thought he’d left…”

“What happened, Sammy?!” Dean could hear the panic in his voice.

“I was playing with one of the toys…”

There was a silence that stretched out between them.

“Playing like fidgeting… or playing like…?” Dean asked.

“Dean, he saw it, I think.”

“Dammit Sammy.”

“I’m sorry Dean, I was happy, I was talking to you, I thought I was alone… and I haven’t had a chance to go drain it off in weeks.”

“How sure are you he saw it moving on its own?”

“He didn’t seem shocked, he could have just been surprised a grown man was playing with a matchbox car.”

“You still have that Impala I gave you on the way to school?” Panic aside, this made Dean smile.

“Dean, I still have every toy you ever gave me. Why wouldn’t I?” Sam told him, “But the Impala has sort of been my go to. Because if I can’t hold it in anymore I can make the wheels spin while it’s in my pocket, and no one except Emily ever noticed.”

Dean was silent for a minute. Thinking over the situation, it seemed likely the guy hadn’t understood what he was seeing.

“Well I guess he’d have been more shocked or said something if he’d seen… or he might have seen it and not believed what he was seeing.”

“Dean, we all spend our entire lives being trained to believe what we are seeing and write copious amounts of reports on it… there is only he saw, or he didn’t see, as options here.”

Dean saw this for the truth it was.

“Sam as soon as you can, go for a hike, and channel off as much of it as you can.”

“Yah… I’ll go tomorrow morning.”

“And do not slip up again at that house.”

“I know. I can’t think how I let myself get so distracted that I forgot I wasn’t alone…” He thought it might have something to do with the headaches.

“Look, just keep an eye out to see if you can figure out if he saw. And be careful, stay safe.” Dean knew what they would do with Sam if they found out he was born like this, and he knew Sam did too. “Give me the address of the restaurant and we’ll see you Thursday.”

“What about the witch?”

“Mom’s probably right, it’s probably nothing. We’ll be there Thursday.”

“Okay.”

+++

The next morning, Sam drove down to Portola Redwoods State Park, and set off to find a good spot to channel the energy into. Eventually he found a little path leading off the main trail. There was a creek and some redwoods clustered close enough together to hide him from the main trail. He found a place to sit at the base of one of the trees and he pressed his back into it.

Sam concentrated and spooled up as much of the energy as he could. He placed his hands flat on the ground and let it all unravel out of him and spin off into the earth and the tree. The ferns near him grew larger and became lusher, the tree behind him and the ones nearby grew thicker and taller. The pinecones on the ground near him heated and split, the seeds falling and taking root instantly. The tiny flowers that grew along the creek bed bloomed and multiplied.

The magic was so much stronger now than when he’d first learned to do this, and the effect spread much farther away from his body. He just let it all out, it felt so good to let it flow into the world.

Almost a half an hour had passed before he finally felt the spool of magic come to its end. He stayed still, with his eyes closed. He enjoyed the feeling of relief, for a few more minutes. When he opened his eyes and saw the massive changes he’d made to his surroundings, he was shocked.

It had made an almost impenetrable jungle of ferns and small saplings around him for about twenty yards in every direction. He stood up and carefully picked his way back to the main trail.

He was going to have to find a way to do this more often, clearly it was getting stronger.

+++

Over the next few days, he kept himself busy, and was very careful only to fidget with the silver dollar. He did need to do it, too. He was so tense. His relief from channeling off had only really lasted a day or so before he felt it building up again, and his headache returned Tuesday night.

The headache did not just return, it knocked him down. He was on his knees as waves of pain and nausea washed over him. He gripped the side of the bed and tried to get himself onto it. His vision had blurred… and then he saw…

_The woman was being chased by someone, she was in an alley. There was a dead end ahead of her. She stopped and turned to face her pursuer, and as he reached for her she placed her hand on his face and he fell dead at her feet. Then she was in a house, there was another woman there, they were arguing; in anger, she reached out and touched the other woman, who then dropped to the floor._

Air returned to Sam’s lungs in a rush and he managed to heave himself up enough to fall on to the bed. He gulped as much oxygen as he could into his lungs. He heard pounding on his door, and Anthony’s voice shouting his name.

He stumbled to the door, getting his breathing under control as he did.

“Are you all right?” Anthony asked once Sam had opened the door.

“Yah, I just uhm,” What had happened to him?

“You sure gave a scream…”

“You heard me?”

“Yah, you stub your toe or something?” Anthony laughed, relieved Sam was okay.

“Yah something like that, knocked my funny bone on the door jamb in the bedroom.” Sam seized on something close to Anthony’s assumption. If you are going to lie, keep it simple.

“Oooo,” Anthony gave a hiss, “That hurts.”

“Yah,” Sam rubbed his elbow.

“Pete and I are going to go get a beer, you want to come with?”

“Nah, I have some things to do here. Next time.” Sam answered with a smile.

“Okay, goodnight then.”

Sam didn’t know what the vision had meant, he didn’t recognize the women or the man. It made no sense. He did not have any frame of reference for it. He jotted down as much of it as he could remember, in case he had another vision to compare it to. Then he changed into his comfy clothing and went back to the work room.

+++

Sam was downstairs going through a codex. He’d been looking through it earlier for a reference on one of the artifacts, and he’d found what he was looking for, but the codex was fascinating. He’d found himself wishing he could sit and study it while he’d been working. So now he was curled up on the sofa in the work room with the codex and his notebook, basically geeking out over it.

Chris entered the house, ostensibly to check in and drop off the delivery receipts, but in truth he’d been told to keep an eye on Sam and report back if he saw anything unusual. At least, until they could assign a specialist. Chris had decided the best way to do that would be to pretend to be Sam’s friend. So, he tamped down his envy when he saw Sam relaxing on the sofa with an ancient codex, like he owned the joint. He said, in a cheerful way,

“Hey Sam, I’m back.”

Sam was a little startled, he’d been engrossed in his reading,

“Hey, Chris. How was the trip?”

“Same as always, went up, came down, and then flat.” Chris chuckled at his joke about the terrifying climb through the Sierra Nevada Mountains followed by the flat straight route to Kansas.

Sam was immediately suspicious of Chris’s demeanor. He was being much more friendly than normal. He had already decided that the only way to be sure if Chris had seen him use magic was to poke into his thoughts. Surface thoughts of people he was close to just sort of happened to come to him. He could read moods of most other people without much effort. But never really went looking into people’s minds. It felt intrusive and wrong to him. But he had to know if Chris had seen it.

He kept up the light banter Chris seemed suddenly interested in having with him, while he let a tendril of awareness channel into Chris’s mind.

He knew, then, that Chris had seen it and had reported that he’d seen it. Sam knew he was being watched. By Chris now, and eventually, someone from the committee that dealt with members who misused their positions, spells, or access to artifacts.

This person would watch him so closely he’d not even be able to find privacy to channel it off.

Which meant eventually he wouldn’t be able to hold it in.

It would come out of him, somehow. It would be seen.

He’d be taken someplace and studied.

He’d never see the light of day again.

Not even John would be able to stop them.

 _‘Hell,’_ Sam thought, _‘Once he finds out, Dad will probably help them catch me.’_

+++


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean helps Sam escape.

Chapter Fifteen

Palo Alto, California. 2005

+++

Once Chris had left, after staying much longer than normal, Sam rushed to his room. He packed his largest suitcase with anything he might need, and anything that might clue them in to where he was going, or what he could do. He snuck it down to the carriage house that was used as a garage for the onsite boarders. Putting the case in the trunk of his car; he formulated his plan. He probably had another day or so before the committee sent someone. He was sure they would go discuss it with John before they did. If someone did show up to watch him, he’d know John either failed to convince them it was nonsense, or that John was on their side.

He'd wait and see. If John did stand up for him, and was able to stop this, he’d sneak the suitcase back in when he knew. Otherwise he was ready to run.

+++

John left the meeting room. He was boiling through with indignant rage. How dare they accuse Sam of something like this on the word of a fucking courier? He’d prove them wrong, and then he’d make sure that little pissant was drummed out of the order on a greased slide. His first thought was to call Sam and ask him what happened. But they’d been clear that they now considered Sam a subject of inquiry, and John was not allowed to interfere with the investigation. His next thought, which surprised even him, was to call Mary. Mary was a good hunter, and she had great instincts, if Sam was capable of what they were accusing him of, Mary would know, wouldn’t she? Except Mary hadn’t seen Sam in years, so how would she have had time to notice?

He suddenly remembered the deck of cards. His hand shot out to his desk drawer and he shuffled through its contents until he found the small deck, with the, now rotting with age, rubber band he’d wrapped around it before throwing it in there eighteen years ago. He went to the spell workers’ offices and asked if they had a spell he could use to find out what sort and origin of magic an object had been touched by. They did.

Thirty minutes later the small deck was in a silver dish on his desk blotter, glowing green and made up entirely of the three of clubs. John’s gut clenched. It was inborn magic. Sam had done this. John had no way to disprove the courier’s claim now.

John’s entire life view had been black or white. Things were either good or they were bad.

Witches were bad, weren’t they?

Sam was good, wasn’t he?

For the first time in John’s life he saw a grey area, and his Son was trapped in it.

+++

Sam was waiting for Dean and Mary at the restaurant. He’d ordered a beer for while he waited and was picking at a basket of chips and some salsa. The investigator had arrived that afternoon, under the guise of routine chapterhouse inspections. But he’d spent most of his time in whatever room Sam happened to be working in at that moment.  The stress of being careful and acting unaware that he was being watched was almost too much for him. The silver dollar got a lot of mileage across his knuckles that afternoon.

When Dean arrived, Sam jumped up and hugged him. Dean was shocked, not at Sam’s height, Nightmare-Sam was the same height. He was shocked that Sam’s hair was neatly trimmed. Nightmare-Sam’s hair was a floppy mess that fell in his eyes. He supposed it made sense, the Men of Letters had a strict dress code. Much stricter than a dumbass college kid.

“Where’s Mom?”

“Well it turned out it was something, so she stayed behind to take care of it, so I could be here.”

“Did you tell her…?”

“No, she didn’t think it would be a hard job, and she knew I was eager to see you, so we decided she’d join me when the job was done.”

The waiter came over, he greeted Sam with a smile. Sam had become a bit of a regular here. He’d become known as a good tipper who didn’t make a huge mess or get drunk and rowdy. Unlike a lot of the large groups of techies and college students who looked right through the waitstaff, Sam always had a smile and a genuine way of asking how their day was. Sam’s beers were always delivered to the table quickly and over the last few weeks the amount of food on his plate had steadily increased, because the few times he’d ordered for takeaway at the counter he’d charmed the pants off the counter staff and the chefs simply by being sincere and appreciative of the food. And his dimpled smile as he spoke to them in decent Spanish didn’t hurt, either. Now the abuelas who cooked all the food thought he was too skinny and needed fattening up. So, he’d order three tacos and get four, or get home to find they’d slipped an extra tamale into his bag.

Sam ordered a bowl of pozole, and Dean, a shredded beef burrito. Sam told the waiter to bring Dean some orange sauce, and answered Dean’s questioning look with,

“Trust me.”

“So, tell me, what happened about the car?” Dean asked as soon as the waiter had left to go get Dean’s beer.

“They sent someone to watch me. He arrived this afternoon. I’m going to have to disappear.”

“John couldn’t stop them? Did he try?”

“I don’t know, Dad hasn’t called me, and it’s not like I can call him and ask without tipping my hand.”

“Is there any way you can keep it hidden until he leaves?”

“I think he’s staying until I slip up. I can’t risk it…” Sam broke off for a moment as Dean’s beer arrived, “The stress is killing me and the build up has gotten so strong. If I can’t channel it off, it’ll just come out on its own. And this guy, he’ll follow me to anywhere I might go to burn it off. You have no idea how massive the energy is now… there’s no way to channel it off that he won’t notice. He might be watching us right now.”

Dean surreptitiously inspected the rest of the clientele,

Sam saw this and said,

“He’s not anywhere I can see him, but that doesn’t mean he can’t see us.” Sam’s eyes darted around too, though. “No, Dean, I need to run. I need to disappear, if they find me I’ll become an object of study, they’ll never let me out,” he leaned forward his voice intense, and the fear on his face was clear, “I’ll be locked away in the bunker forever, or studied until they think they’ve studied me enough and then they’ll find a way to kill me or use me. If Dad wanted to and could have stopped it, he would have. He either didn’t want to or couldn’t. I have to leave.”

Dean noticed, then, that Sam had his overcoat slung over the chair behind him. It was the middle of summer in California,

“You mean now?”

“Yes. Tonight.”

“Come with me and Mom.” Dean was worried that he was looking at him for the last time after not getting to see him for so long. He just blurted it out without thinking, then held his breath. It was probably a dumb idea, Dean and Mary were the first things John would try and track down if Sam went missing. So, he was surprised when Sam said,

“That was sort of my plan.” He smiled at his brother. “I figured we could leave here, break into my car, make it look like something had happened to me, leave my wallet, take the money, and leave the I.D., leave some of my blood…”

“No, no blood. They’ll be able to track you with magic that way.”

“Okay no blood, but make it look like I was jumped, my car was stolen or something, and then I just disappear. I have a suitcase in my car with everything I need. Will you help me?”

“Of course.” Sammy was asking for his protection and that was Dean’s calling. There could be no other answer.

The waiter returned with a small bowl of orange sauce and a burrito the size of Dean’s head, with a spare taco on the side, just in case. Sam received what he was pretty sure was a mixing bowl, full to the brim with pozole and a tamale he hadn’t ordered. Then a plate with two meat and cheese stuffed quesadillas was put down, along with two stone bowls; one full of sour crème, and one full of fresh guacamole. Dean started to point out the extra food, Sam just shook his head at Dean and said,

“It’s no use. Believe me.” Sam smiled and thanked the waiter.

As they ate they formulated how best to make Sam’s disappearance look coincidental, and not like he was running. When they had a working plan, Sam asked for the check. They’d had six beers between them, ordered about twenty-five dollars’ worth of food and been served about forty dollars’ worth. The bill said only _“Cervesas x 2- Modelo 4$.”_

Sam laughed, he was going to miss this place. He dropped four twenty-dollar bills on the table and set the salt shaker on them, so they wouldn’t blow away.

Dean walked behind him back to where his car was parked. Sam had parked it back a few streets in a residential area. In the most secluded spot he could find. He’d also used a little magic to bust the three closest street lights. They said some goodbyes and had a hug, for show in case anyone was watching them. Then Dean walked back to the Impala, on the way he called Mary and left her a message letting her know he would be meeting her back in Washington in about two days. He did not mention Sam would be with him, in case anyone was listening in. Mary would just have to be happily surprised.

Sam waited for Dean to return and pretended to talk on his phone. Hoping that anyone watching would assume he’d said his goodbyes to Dean and was taking a moment before driving off.

Dean pulled up next to Sam’s car.  For the first time in a long time Sam used a good chunk of his magic to a purpose. His suitcase moved from the trunk of his car to the trunk of the Impala in an instant. In a glove covered hand, he held a large rock. He slid into the back seat of the Impala and chucked the rock through the driver side window of his car. The glass shattered and fell on the ground where his now stripped wallet and torn overcoat were lying in a puddle next to his car. He lay down, shutting the door as he fell back onto the seat. Dean drove them away.

They drove off into the night, winding through the back streets until they could cut across to El Camino Real, a few miles from where they had last been seen. Then Dean followed the road north until he got to 92 to cut over on to 101 proper and they headed up the Peninsula, through San Francisco, and over the Golden Gate Bridge. They stopped and gassed up in San Rafael. Sam finally was able to get out of his prone position in the back of the car and come sit in the front passenger seat. It was the first time in his entire life he’d ever been in the front seat of the Impala. To Dean it felt oddly comforting, he was used to Nightmare-Sam riding shotgun. In the Nightmare world, Sam in the seat next to him meant safety; they were both okay, and in the Impala. They were home.

To Sam it felt a little weird. The car had seemed so much bigger as a kid from the back seat.

They pulled into a small motel in Eureka about six hours later. It was almost two in the morning. Sam had fallen into a fitful sleep in the passenger seat. Dean shook his shoulder and woke him up once he had secured them a room. The process of getting his suitcase and getting into his sleeping clothes woke Sam up enough that he knew he was probably done sleeping.

Dean was exhausted. The sudden shift from nice dinner with his brother to panicked flight had kept Dean in a tense, protective mode. He passed out in his boxers and tee shirt. Sam was a little taken aback at how easily Dean was able to fall asleep with him in the same room. At home they’d had separate rooms and Dean had occasionally fallen asleep in his room, but Sam was accustomed to having his own space. He wasn’t used to having another body in the room. Sam lay down and tried to relax back into sleep. But he found himself just staring at the ceiling, thinking about what his actions this evening would mean for him.

Once they figured out the scene had been staged, and Sam had no doubt that they would, they would understand he had run because it was true. That there was something inside him they feared; wanted to study and contain. That he was a monster they had to deal with. He wasn’t a Man of Letters anymore; to them, he wasn’t even human. He turned over onto his side and looked at Dean’s silhouette. Dean would help him. Dean had always protected him. At least he had that.

At least Dean didn’t think Sam was a monster.

+++

_Sam’s fear of what he might become after dealing with Andrew shook Dean to his core. He carefully schooled his features, he didn’t want Sam to know what he was thinking. Only monsters and things you hunted did stuff that Sam could do, that Max had done, that Andrew could do. John’s warning that he might have to kill Sam, if he couldn’t save him, screamed through him. Dean had spent his entire life protecting Sammy and killing monsters. That those two purposes might intersect, scared the crap out of him._

+++

Dean woke with a shout.

Sam had just about managed to doze off when Dean called out.

“Dean, you okay?”

“Yah. Sorry…”

“Nightmare?”

Dean heaved a sigh,

“Not really,” He thought about how best to talk to Sam about this. Sammy was already stressed enough about his own crap, it seemed selfish to Dean to lay this on him, but he needed help and he felt like Sam could help him. It was getting worse. He’d stopped here last night because he’d dozed off behind the wheel only to become Nightmare Dean, also driving, and he did not realize he was driving in the Nightmare world until a real-world semi-truck had almost hit them. He had to get this to stop.

“Wanna talk about it?” Sam said.

“Yes. It’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about last night, before… well,” Sam nodded, he knew, and he felt bad that his issues had eclipsed Dean’s need.

“Well let’s talk about it… what’s going on?”

“I’ve been having nightmares,” that sounded like such a pale, inaccurate way to describe it. “Like really vivid nightmares. They sort of parallel our life. I mean ages, personalities, people. Even some events, with minor changes. Like a hunt in real life with Mom turns out exactly like a hunt in the nightmares, but with Dad,” Sam’s eyebrows shot up in shock at the thought of Dad hunting, “or vice versa. People look the same even if I haven’t met them in the real world yet. You remember me telling you about Bobby?” Sam nodded, “I’d known Bobby since I was like, five in the nightmares, but in the real world I met him when I was thirteen. But he looks exactly the same.”

“Wait… since you were five in the nightmares? How long have you been having these?”

“That’s just it, Sammy, it’s not really ‘having them’ so much as when I close my eyes, I am just there, living this whole other life. It’s like I spend my nights there living that same day, but in this other world, and my days here.”

“How long Dean?”

“Since I was four, almost five.” That one had been the worst, he remembered it vividly, still. He’d spent the next real-world day clinging to Mary, afraid to let her out of his sight.

“Do you remember it?”

“Yah,” Dean’s voice was rough as he said, “Because that was the one where Mom died.”

Over the next few hours, Dean told Sam as much as he could about their other life.  Sam just listened mostly, only asking a few questions here and there. Dean explained how they had started out like normal dreams and nightmares, then, he came to understand they were marching along the same timeline as real life. Eventually, he’d fall asleep from real life, and wake up in the nightmare world, and when he went to sleep there, he’d wake up here.

When he finished, Dean looked at Sam, waiting for his brother to stop absorbing the information and react.

Finally, Sam spoke;

“I’ve never heard of someone having serial lucid dreams for so long. Or someone dreaming in a logical timeline. Prophetic dreaming is surprisingly common, though. Do things in the dream world happen before they do in the real world?”

“Sometimes, and sometimes it’s the other way around. Sam,” there was a note of fear in Dean’s voice, “It’s gotten so vivid, I have trouble knowing which _the real-world is_.”

“What is happening there, right now?”

Dean had stopped his narrative about the nightmare world’s current events just before Dad went missing on a hunt. The hunt that had made Dean seek Nightmare-Sam out at school.

Dean took a deep breath and explained to Sam about Dad going missing and Jessica; He then started to tell him about the visions that were tearing through Nightmare-Sam. Sam’s head snapped up and he caught Dean’s eye with a shocked expression.

“Dean…” Sam asked, “Does the Sam there have horrible headaches before having these visions?”

“Yah, it’s like you’re gonna die or pass out or puke; or all three at once. They drop you to the floor, man.” He saw Sam’s reaction to this and asked, “Sammy are you having visions, too, now?”

Sam nodded,

“Yah, I am.”

“So, what do you think?” Dean asked, the hope in his voice that Sam could somehow fix this was obvious.

“I think I need to do some research, but I might be able to find a way to stop the nightmares. There’s a bunch of stuff on lucid dreaming and nightmare suppression out there. If I were still,” he paused for a moment, swallowing his shame, “a Man of Letters, I could find it in an hour or so. But even now, I might be able to find a fix for you.” He had a lot of info on his laptop, but most of the stuff he had downloaded on his hard drive was stuff directly related to his job. Any other reference material he needed would mean connecting to the Men of Letters’ servers and he could not risk that. He wondered if there was a way he could contact Emily without getting her into trouble. Without the Men of Letters finding him by tracing their contact. Emily might know how to help Dean, just off the top of her head.

“I’ll figure something out, Dean. I promise.”

“Thanks, Sammy.” Dean felt a weight lift off his soul. Someone else knew now, someone who he trusted, and could actually help him.

As the sun was coming up, they packed up the car and got back on the road. Things were pretty fucked up for them both, and they knew it, but at least they had each other, now.

That made all the difference.

+++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a crappy wi-fi connection in my flat, and for some reason the ONLY problem it's causing for me on AO3 is answering comments, (you should see how messed up tumblr is for me on it) so if you commented and got multiple notifications of reply, or commented and got no reply, please know I tried to reply and got timed out or told I'd already replied.
> 
> I really do appreciate the comments and I will continue trying to get them to work.
> 
> :)


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean meet up with Mary, after some help from an unlikely ally. John chases after them. Sam tests his powers and something feels wrong.

Chapter Sixteen

Eugene Oregon. 2005

+++

They cut over to I-5 and arrived in Eugene around two in the afternoon. Dean pulled off as they were just north of the city and stopped for some food, they were both a little tired, but there was plenty of daylight left and they didn’t want to waste it. They were only about three hours away from Mary, so coffee and food would help them get there.

Dean called Mary again to update his ETA, but again only got her voicemail. He was starting to worry. Granted, he’d only told her he was on his way, which for them was a pretty standard message and one that really didn’t need a reply. But still, concern was percolating in his gut.

Sam’s phone rang.

He looked at it. It was John. They knew he was gone now. Sam assumed they were having John call him because they thought he would be an obedient son and answer his father’s call. He let it ring through to his voicemail.

“They’ve found out I’m gone. They are having Dad try to call me.” He said to Dean. They signaled the waitress for their check.

+++

Palo Alto, That same day.

John stood in the chapterhouse. He’d flown out as soon as they had called him and told him Sam was missing. He’d tried to call Mary, gotten her voicemail and realized he had no idea what he could possibly say to her. He did not leave a message. The investigator was sure Sam had run away, but as they were talking, the police had arrived to ask after Sam. They’d found his car. John identified himself as Sam’s father and the policeman took him out to where the car was. John verified that it was Sam’s car. He did not believe for an instant that Sam had been attacked or mugged. But he played the worried father for the cops well. They gave him an incident number and the number to the impound where he could call to see if the car could be released to him later, after they’d finished their investigation. The officer drove him back to the chapterhouse.

Sam had clearly figured out why the investigator was there and left. John went upstairs into Sam’s room. The investigator had started going through Sam’s main room, looking for any information. John went into Sam’s bedroom. He searched the entire room, and the only thing he found was half of a crumpled receipt in a bag from a cell phone store. He carefully smoothed it out and saw it had a phone number on it, in pencil, in handwriting he did not recognize. He flipped it over. Someone had bought forty-dollars’ worth of gas and disgusting sounding spicy beef jerky. In New York?

And that someone had signed the receipt,

_D Winchester_

The rage that John Winchester had struggled to keep down for so long roared forward.

Dean had taken Sam or helped Sam escape.

He put the receipt in his pocket before the investigator could see it.

John was going to deal with this bit of information himself.

Only a few hours later, Sam’s rooms were emptied as if he’d never existed. Everything he’d left behind had been bagged and notated and sent back to the bunker to be examined. They were going to find any traces of magic Sam had left behind.

John went back to his hotel room and decided he should try to call Sam, maybe he could get him to come back. He knew Sam must have his cell phone with him, he’d left no charger behind, which meant he’d taken it with him. Maybe John could convince him to return. Convince him the order meant him no harm. Get him away from Dean. Despite having been ordered not to, he hit the key for Sam’s speed dial.

It rang four times and went to voicemail.

“Sam, it’s your Dad, call me back.” He tried to sound conciliatory and concerned; not angry and panicked. He was not sure he’d managed it, though.

Then he took the scrap of paper out of his pocket. He looked at his eldest son’s handwriting. His gut twisted. There was something weird about not recognizing the way his eldest son signed his name or wrote numbers. He knew he should know these things. He knew them about Sam.

Anger and bile rose from his stomach.

He dialed the number.

It rang three times, then a voice said,

“Hello?”

+++

When Dean’s phone rang a few moments later, Sam’s head jerked up,

“Who’s that?” it struck Sam as suspicious that Dean got a call only a moment after his Dad had tried to call him. But there was no way his Dad could have Dean’s number, so he ignored his paranoia.

“Unknown number.” Dean shrugged and hit the answer button. Often, hunts started with unknown numbers, and sometimes it was a fellow hunter on a new burner phone looking for help. This could even be Mary returning his call from the hotel phone.

“Hello?” he said.

“Hello Dean.”

Dean recognized his Father’s voice right away, but he said,

“Who is this?” anyway.

“This is your father.”

Sam could hear the phone’s speaker and reacted to this with shock and fear. Dean gave him a reassuring nod, and an expression that said _‘I got this… don’t worry’_

Dean thought fast and asked John the question he’d have asked if Sam weren’t there and his father had called him out of the blue,

“Is Sammy okay? What’s wrong with him?”

Sam found himself smiling approvingly of this.

John thought for moment and gauged the sincerity in Dean’s voice. Dean had no reason to be truthful to John, and John knew it. He realized though, that he just plain no longer knew Dean well enough to tell if he was bullshitting.

“Sam is missing, Dean. I thought you might know where he is. I’m worried about him. I just want him safe.”

“I don’t know where he is.” Dean said.

John paused, he knew Dean was lying. Sam might not be with him, but there was no doubt in John’s mind that Dean knew where his little brother was.

“Will you promise to call me if you hear from him?” John asked.

There was a few moments of silence and Dean answered,

“No, Sir. I will not.” Then he hung up. He saved John’s number to his contacts, though, so he wouldn’t accidentally answer a call from him, again.

“Well,” Dean said to Sam, “I guess Dad’s looking for you.”

It may have been the need to release collective stress or a reaction to the crazy turn their lives had taken in the last day and a half. Or maybe it was just the smile on Dean’s face and the look of admiration on Sam’s; but for some reason this moment struck both as funny, and they laughed as they paid the check and left.

+++

Olympia, Washington, later that evening.

Dean parked the car in the motel lot, next to Mary’s rented car. They walked up to the door of her room and Dean knocked. There was no answer.

“She’s not there.” A little voice said from behind them.

Dean recognized her but could not remember her name. She was the teenaged daughter of the couple that owned the little motor lodge. She cleaned the rooms and sometimes worked the front desk.

“Hi,” Dean greeted her, “Do you know where she went?”

“She left just after you did and hasn’t been back yet. I dunno where she went but she didn’t take her car so… probably close by.”

“Hey, can you let us into the room, I left my key with her, in case she needed to check out before I got back.” They normally got two rooms, but also got two keys for each in case one of them needed to go into the other room for something. Dean hadn’t expected to be back, so he’d left his key to Mary’s room with her.

“Sure, Mister,” She shrugged. She’d checked them in, so she knew it would be okay.

She opened the door with her passkey and left them to it.

The room looked exactly as Dean had left it, except Mary wasn’t in it.

Her phone was though. Dean panicked and grabbed it, the battery had died. He plugged it into the charger, wondering why she’d left the room without it. He turned to Sam,

“Stay here.” He ordered and ran out of the room. Sam followed him anyway. Dean got in the car, Sam sliding into the passenger seat at the same time.

“No, Sam, it’s not safe… it’s witches -- evil, horrible creatures…” Dean shuddered visibly, “you don’t know…”

“Uhm, thanks…?”

Dean realized what he’d been saying.

“It’s different…”

“Why?”

“Because you’re Sammy and these witches are evil. You aren’t evil. You’re not a witch… you just can ‘ _do things_.’”

“You mean things witches can do.”

“Well, yah…”

“So, wouldn’t it be handy to have someone who could do those things on your side?”

Dean’s instinct to protect every version of Sammy he knew was in full swing, but he had to admit, real-world Sammy had a valid point.

“Fine… probably, I guess. Close your door!” Dean growled, reluctantly ceding the point.

Sam swung his other leg into the car and slammed the door closed.

They sped off towards the house where Mary and Dean had been sure the coven master lived.

When they pulled up close to the house, they parked and got out to approach the home.

Sam followed Dean as he took them around the side of the house, looking for any way in besides the front door. They came to a mudroom door behind what was probably the kitchen. Dean went to try the handle, Sam reached out and grabbed his arm. He shook his head and pointed, indicating a tiny ward carved into the lintel. They continued around to the back, there was a storm cellar, also warded, and screened patio, with the same sigil on its doorframe.

Dean leaned into Sam and whispered,

“Do you know what it will do if we just say, “fuck it” and charge in?”

“Yah, it will alert anyone who’s inside the house that two idiots just broke in.” Sam answered with a smirk.

“You’re hilarious,” Dean shot back.

“Follow me. I recognize it, I know who this witch is.” Sam started walking back to the front door. Dean was wary but followed him.

Sam walked right up to the front door, bold as brass and rang the doorbell, pushing Dean behind him.

The door swung open. A rather young and nervous butler stood before them.

“Hello,” Sam said, “Is Mr. Faye at home?”

“And you are?”

“I’m Mr. Campbell, I’m with the Men of Letters,” The butler’s face creased in confusion. Sam responded to this by saying, “Mr. Faye will know what this is about, if you could just announce me and my colleague,” Dean quickly tucked his gun back into his waistband and tipped himself around the side of his brother, with a smile plastered on his face.

The butler allowed them to step into the foyer and scurried off. This job gave him the heebie jeebies, weird people showed up asking for Mr. Faye at all hours, day or night. These two weren’t too bad, he supposed. A freaky tall guy from some club he’d never heard of and a slightly less tall, but equally freaky dude who looked like he only bought clothing out of survivalist catalogues. At least they had been polite. At least they did not look like they wanted to, or were capable of, eating him.

“Mr. Faye, Sir?”

“Yes, yes, show them in, make the scruffy one leave his weapons at the door.”

“Very good, Sir.” He squeaked.

Mr. Faye rolled his eyes. Good help was hard to find when you wanted them to answer the doors to various creatures and monsters at all hours of the day or night. And by the time this particular squeaky teenager was good at the job, he’d figure out he could get paid better someplace else. Someplace where he did not occasionally have to deal with being attacked by monsters. Ah, well… there was a never-ending supply of teenagers. If this one didn’t get better soon, he’d just hire another one.

Mr. Faye listened to an amusing parade of clunks and clatters as Dean placed what seemed to be about a dozen and a half weapons into a bucket that was kept by the door for such things.

When they finally were brought back to him, he dismissed the butler with a

“Thank you, Thomas,”

*Ahem* “It’s Harold, sir.”

“Really? I could have sworn it was Thomas.”

“No, Sir, Harold.”

“Ah, well, I will never remember that, the last four or five of you were all named Thomas, as I recall, so if it’s all the same to you, I’ll just call you Thomas.”

Harold nodded and left the room, he was pretty sure none of them had actually been ‘Thomas,’ and the old man was just fucking with him. Didn’t seem worth losing his job to argue over, though.

Mr. Faye stood up and greeted them both with handshakes.

“Ah, the younger Winchesters,” Sam wasn’t surprised Mr. Faye knew who they really were. Trying to use an alias had been a long shot. Every single Man of Letters or knowledgeable contact they used, seemed to know who he was; who his father was.

“Have a seat, please,” he gestured to the sofa and the chair across from his. “I assume you are looking for your Mother. Lovely woman. She was here, a few nights ago.”

As he spoke he never took his eyes off Sam. This made Sam nervous, he pulled out the silver dollar from his pocket. Then Dean said,

“And she hasn’t been seen since… what did you do to her?”

“I satisfied her curiosity by answering her questions and sent her on her way. When she left here she was healthy and on her way to the tiny upstart coven full of rabble that has sprung up across town. My theory would be that if you cannot find her, that would be the place to look.” He said, to Sam specifically, “You, of course, will understand why I have been unable to take care of them myself.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably at this and started flipping the coin along the knuckles of his left hand. Mr. Faye chuckled at Sam’s obvious discomfort, and then reached into the pocket of his cardigan and pulled out a pad and a pen and jotted down an address. He held it out for Dean to take.

“Sam you must go with him and help him, I understand, but I would also be able to help you with your little issue, if you would care to return afterwards.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, tightly. Dean was already in the hallway, retrieving his weapons.

“I understand if you choose not to trust me. I have nothing to offer to you to reassure you. But I can help you, if you will let me.”

Sam nodded and turned on his heel to walk after Dean and out the door.

As they drove across town, to the address Mr. Faye had given them. Sam told Dean,

“No matter what happens, we can’t go back to Mr. Faye’s. Once we find Mom, we have to go get our stuff and leave. And we have to be fast.”

“I thought he said he could help you though?”

“His idea of helping is turning me over to them. So that I end up like him.”

“Like him? Like him how?”

Sam stared out the window, his jaw working with tension. Then he said,

“Mr. Faye is never allowed to leave that house. He is warded into it. The Men of Letters studied him for years, kept him locked up, and finally agreed to let him go on the condition that he help them whenever they ask and never leave that house, so they could always find him and keep tabs on him. He’s immortal. They couldn’t kill him when they were done with their investigation of him, so they built him that prison and trapped him in there. He pays for that luxury by doing their bidding. He’ll have already called them and told them we’re here. They will take me, they will study me, they will try to kill me when they are done. If they can’t kill me, they will lock me up in a tiny dark room, alone, until I am willing to agree to the same trap.” Sam looked at Dean and spoke forcefully, “We have to be quick and get out of here fast.”

“Can we trust his information about where Mom went?”

“I think so,” Sam’s brow creased, “For whatever reason he was telling the truth about Mom, I don’t know why.”

Dean picked up the pace as much as he could.

+++

The house was tiny, and in poor repair. The lights being on was the only thing that saved it from looking abandoned.

Dean scoped out the house and the area around it, he was about to tell Sam his plan when Sam said,

“Mom’s in the basement, there’s something wrong with her thoughts, but she’s not in any pain and she’s alive. There’s two borrower witches in the main room, and one inborn in the kitchen. You go get Mom, I’ll take care of the witches.”

“You, uh, you can feel all that from here?”

“Yes. The borrower witches are scared of something, too.”

“I don’t like you going up against three witches, I mean, it’s not like you practice using the energy for stuff like this, and they have.”

“Just get Mom safe, okay?”

Dean saw Sam’s face was resolved. So, he gave in, silently vowing that once Mary was safe they’d come help him whether he liked it or not.

“I don’t suppose you know where the basement door is?” Dean asked sarcastically.

Sam closed his eyes and poked into one of the witch’s thoughts for a moment.

“There’s a set of steps leading to a door on the left side of the house, there’s a combo lock on it. It’s 32-14-7”

Sam walked forward, Dean stared at him for a second before following, muttering under his breath, “ _well, sure, take all the fun out of it…_ ”

Sam waited until he knew Dean had found the basement entrance before trying the front door. It was unlocked. He opened it and walked in.

The two witches in the main room immediately reacted, hands up and incantations coming from their mouths. One was a teenaged boy, the other was an older woman.

Sam channeled some energy into shielding himself from whatever they were going to throw at him. Whatever was making the energy inside of him did something Sam had never felt before and the two witches fell to the ground, drained of all power. It was like whatever part of him generated magic had sucked them dry in defense. But it wasn’t quite the same, this wasn’t coming from the core of his magic, it was coming from his entire body. They weren’t dead, but still, the automatic force that had come from him, somehow, scared him a little. Dean was right, he hadn’t practiced anything but channeling it off and manipulating small toys. That the magic just did that on its’ own was frightening.

The third Witch peeked around the corner from the kitchen while Sam stared in shock at the unconscious bodies on the floor. She muttered an incantation under her breath and disappeared in a puff of purple. Sam felt her leave, and this jarred him back from his daze.

Sam left the house and ran back to the car. Dean was coming close behind with Mary, who was muttering something to herself. Dean just kept saying soothing things to her while trying to steer her and hold her upright.

Dean saw Sam ahead…

“Are you good? What happened”

“Two of them are taken care of, the other one got away.”

“Ran?”

“Disappeared… used a spell.” Sam answered briefly as he helped get Mary into the car.

“Who…who are you?” Mary asked when her eyes focused on Sam for a moment.

“It’s me Mom, Sam.” He did not think much of her not recognizing him, she hadn’t seen him for so long.

He wasn’t really worried until she said,

“Who’s Sam? And who’s he?” indicating Dean.

Sam looked at Dean, who shrugged and said,

“They did something to her… get in, let’s get gone before they come for you. We’ll figure it out.”

They got back to the hotel, grabbed Mary’s stuff and checked out. Dean got back in the car and turned the key in the ignition. Baby roared back to life, and he started to pull out of the lot.

“Where can we go that will be safe, Dean?” Everyone Sam knew would either get in trouble for helping him or turn him in. He hoped Dean could think of someplace safe to take them.

“Sioux Falls, we’ll be safe at Bobby’s”

+++


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the road to Bobby's, Sam has to tell Mary about his magic.

Chapter Seventeen

On the Road to Sioux Falls, South Dakota. 2005

+++

The next night they stopped at a cheap motel halfway between Olympia and Sioux Falls. They got two adjoining rooms. Mary had mostly slept in the car, waking up occasionally, muttering in a confused fashion, but she wouldn’t really speak to or engage with either of her sons. She didn’t even really seem to understand she was in a car. All Sam could hear in her head was a jumbled confusion, the memories were all there, but they were disjointed. Nothing that was happening made sense to her because nothing inside her head made sense right now. They’d been lucky enough to find a female employee at the stops they made for food and gas to help their ‘poor, sick mother’ relieve herself; though she seemed to only need help flushing and washing her hands after. Followed by a little nudge reminding her who and where her sons were. Getting her to eat anything had been a challenge. She seemed to have forgotten what foods she liked and how to manage it.

They got into the motel rooms and got her settled in the bed, she was sleeping again as soon as they got her laid down. Sam brought a chair over and took up her hand. He’d never tried anything like this before, but he figured it was worth a shot. Clearly, he had more power than he’d been aware of. The speed with which he had taken care of the witches, without a conscious thought, was proof of that.

He cleared his mind and then tried to fill it with healing thoughts. Then he channeled a little energy into Mary. He felt it unspooling into her brain and repairing her synapses, the scrambled connections between her memories were re-ordered. He could feel when her awareness returned. She knew Dean, she understood she was in a motel room, she knew her name, she still didn’t recognize Sam, but she knew her youngest son’s name again. She had a mental image of watching him leave that movie theatre so long ago, to go with the name. She felt love for Dean, and Sam. He could feel her remembering it. She also felt love for John still. This surprised Sam. He knew John still loved her, he reeked of it whenever he’d had anything to drink, and it had radiated off him in a way Sam could not shut out. For John, it was inextricably tied to mistrust and anger, and painful for Sam to feel. But Mary still felt an unconditional love for John.

As he felt her drift back to consciousness, he pulled the magic back, gently at first, and then away from her completely as her eyelids started to flutter. He stood up and stepped outside. The tendril of magic had become quite intense, and he did not think it was safe to pull it back into himself. So, he found a patch of bare earth and knelt. He was hoping it looked, to anyone who might happen by, like he was tying his shoe. He placed a palm flat on the ground and released the energy. Once he’d funneled enough of it off, he walked back to the room. Leaving a collection of wildflowers and grass on the previously barren patch by the side of the tiny dirt road.

He returned to the room; Dean was now sitting in the chair, Mary was still on the bed. She looked up at Sam, questioning at first, but then realization dawned that this tall man was her baby boy. Tears came to her eyes and she smiled at him. He came over and stood awkwardly next to the bed. She reached out to him and took his hand. He smiled and then said,

“Wha-ooof,” as she pulled him down onto the bed and gave him a fierce hug, like he was still five.

“Sam.” She said, “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Mom…” Sam gasped… good lord, she was strong, “Can’t breathe…” She released her grip on him. He maneuvered himself around, got off her bed. He walked around the end of it and sat on the other bed facing her, to the right side of Dean’s chair.

Dean turned to her and asked,

“So, what happened?”

“Well,” Mary took a breath and started her story. “After you left, Dean, I went over to the coffee shop next to the hotel to just get some food to bring back to the motel. Then I intended to do some research and digging on this coven. While I was waiting for my food, one of the other customers was talking to a friend about Mr. Faye. I overheard and sort of wormed my way into the conversation. They both had things to say about him, he’d worked a love spell for one of them, the other credited a promotion at work to his help. I made it seem like I wanted to get a spell from him, and one of them offered to take me there. She said she was going right by there and it wasn’t too far to walk back from, so I took her up on the offer. When I got there he was surprisingly helpful, explained that while he did nothing more magical than make philters and charms for local lovesick fools, and give little confidence boosters to those seeking advancement, he did know there were some much more dangerous witches across town, where you found me. I recognized some of the warding on his house and realized he wasn’t much of a threat. I intended to walk back and get my car, weapons and cell phone before heading over to the coven, but when I walked out onto the street…and… I don’t know. From there everything went blank.”

Dean filled her in, briefly, on how they had found her, leaving out anything having to do with Sammy’s problems… or how the witches had been dealt with. Just the fact that they had questioned Mr. Faye, been given her probable location, and gotten her out of there.

“So… how did you break the spell on me? Did you kill them? Was it a hex bag?”

“No…” Dean hesitated, looking to Sam.

Sam took a deep breath, he had known once he got into the backseat of the Impala in Palo Alto that this moment would come. The moment where he might lose his Mom because he had to tell her what he was,

“Mom. I broke the spell and healed you.”

“How?”

“Magic.”

“I don’t understand… you had something from work?”

“No. I used…” Sam looked down at his hands, a flush of shame colored his face. The wheels of the toy Impala started to move in his pocket. Dean noticed the small sound of the spinning plastic and metal. It somehow made the room seem more silent around it, “I used my magic.”

+++

John was in Mr. Faye’s living room within an hour of Sam leaving the house. He was waiting for the investigators to return from the coven across town, and for Sam to come back for the ‘help’ Faye had offered. After two hours, of stifled conversation and awkward comments between them, Mr. Faye finally said,

“I do believe your son is no longer in this town.”

“How do you know?” John’s voice was dangerous.

“I can feel him to a certain distance, and he is gone.” Mr. Faye fixed eyes with John and said, “Your Son is very powerful, there’s more at work there than you know.” He chuckled.

“Did you stall us on purpose, Faye?” John demanded.

“No, I honestly thought the boy would return for my help.” He lied, he’d known Sam would not return, Sam knew what was going on in this house and he knew this was his fate if he was caught. Mr. Faye only had one choice if he wanted to keep the small freedoms he had, so he’d called the Men of Letters. But he was glad the boy had listened to his gut and fled. He had no wish to help them do this to anyone else, but he would not go back into the dark cramped cell they had kept him in before. Keeping them here, to give the boy a head start, was all he could do within these limits.

One of the investigation team had returned, the others still cleaning up the coven house. The investigator spoke to John,

“There were two unconscious borrower witches, or at least, they used to be borrower witches. All their demonic energy had been drained off, completely. We were unable to wake them. We do not expect them to survive the night.” John understood this meant they would be killed and disposed of.

“Drained off how?” John asked, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mr. Faye raise an eyebrow, as if he suddenly understood something that had been bothering him.

“By a demon, or another borrower witch, or something demonic. An artifact maybe? I’ve never seen anything like it. Some demonic power ripped all their borrowed magic from them, in an instant. Whatever it was, it was very powerful.”

“Were there any traces of inborn magic?” Optimism started to fill John, maybe Sam hadn’t done this… maybe it was a misunderstanding.

“Some, but there was evidence that there was an inborn witch living there as well. One of the bedrooms was full of old inborn magic and there was evidence of its use in the kitchen. But we did not find a body to match. If there was one there, whatever drained the borrowers probably disintegrated it.”

Mr. Faye was ruminating over this information. He’d felt how strong Sam’s inborn magic was, but he’d also noticed an “otherness” in the room with them. He had written it off as coming from the brother, whose mind had clearly been altered somehow by something powerful, using a magic of an origin he could not place.

John saw Faye’s face. Faye clearly knew something he wasn’t telling them.

“Do you know where they were headed?”

Mr. Faye did not answer right away. He kept his features calm and schooled.

John did not have time to play these games, he had to find Sam.

“Tell me where they are, or we are taking you with us.” He threatened.

“East, on I-90. That is all I know.”

John’s eyes bore into him, Faye met his regard, unshrinking. The boys had a good head start, and maybe they’d veer from the course they’d been on as they had moved out of his range to detect. He could not go back into that cell, though. He would not sacrifice himself for this boy or anyone. He’d done all he could to help Sam Winchester, it would have to be enough.

+++

“I don’t understand… _your_ magic?” Mary said, watching Sam’s downturned and reddened face. He was clearly terrified to be telling her this; she was unsure how to respond.

“I… uh…” Sam did not know how to explain it. Dean and Emily had figured it out by themselves, he’d never had to tell anyone before.

Dean said,

“Mom, do you remember Sam’s fourth birthday? The Magician, that card trick?”

“Yes,” Mary said, fear clutched her heart at the memory.

“Well, that’s just the first time he did anything like that in front of you, but he’s been able to do stuff like that his whole life. I only realized it that day. I mean he’d call out to me when he was scared or had a nightmare, but I never realized until then that he done it by using magic. I thought he was really calling for me out loud. I never understood why you and Dad didn’t come to help him, because sometimes it was like he was screaming in fear. He just thought that’s how things worked, he’d do that, ‘calling out to me’ magic, and I’d come make it better. He’s always had this in him. It’s not his fault. I did what I could to help him control it, so he didn’t slip up. That was why I kept giving him those toys, I was helping him train himself to fidget with his hands and not with the magic. Late at night after you and Dad went to sleep, I’d work with him on practicing to use it, so he could control it. Only…”

Dean trailed off, he wasn’t sure how to continue.

“Sam,” realization started to come to her, “Why are you not at your posting?”

“I slipped up, and they are after me.” Sam explained, still afraid to look at her, still terrified she thought he was a monster now. He told her what had happened as best as he could. Including the rest of the events leading to her rescue, and the reason they’d driven for twelve straight hours before stopping to try and remove the spell Mary had been under.

“We have to keep going, they’ll find us here.” She said, urgently and protectively. Sam finally raised his head and looked at his Mom. Relief flooded through him. She did not think he was a monster, she still loved him and wanted to protect him.

“You need to rest, though.” Dean said, concern on his face. “They have no way of knowing where we are, they’ll have to stop at every town on the route to search, even if they do know what direction we went.”

Mary considered this, Dean was right, she was exhausted, they all needed to rest; to eat and clean up.

“Okay, we’ll eat and take a few hours to sleep and then get back on the road as soon as we can, agreed?”

Sam nodded, and Dean said,

“I’ll go over to the coffee shop and get us some burgers. You two stay here.”

A few hours later they were fed, clean and sleeping as best they could. Mary was out like a light, they left the adjoining door opened slightly just in case, and then each took a bed in the other room.

Dean slipped into the Nightmare-world. He didn’t really think of sleep as sleeping anymore, just switching gears.

Sam lay awake for a few minutes, he wanted to sleep, he was tired, and he knew he should take advantage of having a bed for a few hours. He felt more comfortable with another person in the room than he had last time, and he knew Dean and Mary would both protect him, but his mind was racing. He really didn’t understand or recognize the thing that had come out of him to drain the power out of the witches. And he knew it had taken their power into itself; that it was still in him. It didn’t feel like the other magic, it didn’t feel like it was part of him. It felt different. It felt weird.

It felt… evil.

+++


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Mary finally talk.

Chapter Eighteen

On the Road to Sioux Falls, 2005.

+++

John’s anger was like a third passenger in the van. The investigator who was driving, Eliot, had figured out pretty quickly that John Winchester was not in the mood for small talk.

The back of the van was completely warded, fitted with restraints, and spell-blocking shackles and chains. The partition between the box of the van and the driver’s compartment was soundproof, bullet proof and magic proof. They couldn’t move him to the bunker via magic because he’d be able to subvert any spell they used, so they had to physically drive him there. Chained and trapped and warded. Eliot was sort of amazed that John was so on board with treating his own son like a monster. Yah, the kid was a witch and needed to be taken in and researched, but John seemed very gung ho about capturing his own kid. This creeped Eliot out more than a little.

The rest of the team was following in a nondescript sedan. They had an artifact with them that would allow them to see if any magic had been used within a mile radius, and so far, they had not had so much as a blip after ten hours of driving. John had only allowed for a few brief stops for gassing up.

He had to find Sam quickly. Before Sam did something major and stupid that would only make things worse for him. Before whatever that demonic thing was caught up with him. If John got to him quickly, there was a chance for damage control.

+++

Sam had finally fallen asleep. It wasn’t a good sleep, though, more like a fitful dozing. After about three hours of this exhausted non-sleep, he was shocked awake by a feeling of anger. It wasn’t his own anger, and it didn’t feel like Dean or Mary…but it was familiar.

He sat up, it was Dad, it was that murderous rage he’d felt that Christmas Eve when he was nine. And it was getting closer.

Sam shot out of bed, shed his pajamas, and pulled on his jeans and a tee-shirt. He stepped into his shoes and threw on his jacket. He wasn’t going to let Dad get to Dean. He’d stop this now. His rushed and panicky motions around the room woke Dean up.

“Hey!” Sam responded to Dean whipping a gun out from under his pillow and pointing at him. “It’s just me!”

“What timezzit?” Dean said blearily… “Mm what’re you doin’ Sammy?”  he put the gun down.

“Dad’s coming, I can feel him… he wants to kill you. I’m going to stop him.” Sam went to the door of the motel room and grabbed the handle.

Dean tackled him from behind.

“No. Stop it…” Dean pulled him away from the door and threw him back. “Calm down. What’s happening? Tell me!”

“I can feel Dad’s anger, it’s coming, they’re almost here.” Sam was in a full-blown panic, the lights in the room started to flicker, coming on, and then switching off. Not like a ghost, but like Sam was fidgeting with the switches without touching them.

“Sammy, you need to calm the hell down right now.” Dean tried to keep his voice even and commanding. Sam’s eyes were darting around, unfocused, Dean wasn’t even sure the kid could hear him.

“You don’t understand… he’s going to kill you, he’s going to take me… I don’t even know what he’ll do when he sees Mom…” The chairs were rattling at the table… an ashtray hurled itself across the room and smashed into the back wall.

Dean hauled back an open palm and slapped Sam across the face, then he grabbed him by the sides of his head and made him meet his eyes.

In the most ‘big brother’ voice he could muster he said,

“Sammy you need to calm down, you are throwing magic around the room… they’ll find us faster, you’ll hurt one of us, you’ll scare Mom… you need to stop. Calm down Sammy, please. Take a breath.”

Sam finally focused on Dean and took a shuddering drag of oxygen. Followed by a few shallow pants, until, at last, he was able to draw in a full even breath.

Mary appeared in the doorway between their rooms.

“What’s wrong?”

Dean turned to look at her over his shoulder, while still holding Sam steady and upright. Sam continued to watch Dean and try to breathe.

“Dad’s coming, we have to get going.”

“How do you know?”

“Sam can feel him coming, and apparently he’s pretty pissed. Get your stuff together, we’ve got to get out of here.”

“No.” Mary said.

“What?” Sam and Dean both turned to her, stunned.

“You boys go, and hurry, I’ll stall him here. I’ll get you as much time as I can. He won’t hurt me.” Mary also hoped she could talk some sense into John.

“But…”

“Dean Winchester you take your little brother and you run, right now, GO!” She commanded him, appealing to his need to protect Sammy.

He looked at her for a moment,

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, go.”

They scrambled to get their stuff and ran to the Impala. As Mary was throwing the weapon bag into the car, Dean said to her,

“Let us know when you are someplace safe, and we’ll send Rufus or Bobby to pick you up.”

“Okay… hurry,” she was seeing Sam’s expression of increasing panic… “you have to go. I love you boys.”

They both hugged her quickly and then got in the Impala and drove off. Mary went back into the motel room, closed the door to Sam and Dean’s half and turned off all their lights. Then she went back through to her side and locked the adjoining door. She turned on the GPS on her phone, and prepared a text message to send, for when John arrived. She put her coat on and opened the door of her room and stepped back outside.

And there she stood, waiting for John, as Sam and Dean sped off into the night.

+++

“Can you tell how close they are?” Dean asked Sam.

“I…” Sam closed his eyes and tried to open up to the feeling of anger that was bearing down on them, “I’m not sure I can… I mean I know I could if I reached out with the magic, but that would lead them right to us. It’s such a strong feeling, he could be ten minutes behind us and just very angry, or, he could be an hour back and madder than he’s ever been in his life.  I can’t tell. Dean, it’s scaring me.”

“Well we have another twelve hours to Bobby’s. If they have some way of tracking any magic you use, you know you can’t use ANY, even once we get there, okay?”

“I know, Dean, I won’t.”

Dean’s phone beeped, and he glanced down at the screen. A text message from Mom had popped up, it said simply,

_They’re here._

They were only 20 minutes behind Sam and Dean.

Dean floored it.

+++

The team in the sedan signaled for them to pull over at a motel off a small access road on the side of the freeway. The sedan pulled up to a patch of wildflowers next to the dirt road. They got out. The artifact they were using was like a compass that could hone in on a particular witch’s magic once it was tuned to it. It was going berserk over a patch of grass and flowers. The investigators were confused. What was the point of casting a spell to grow flowers on the side of the road?

John got out of the van and was about to ask the investigators what they were doing, but then he saw her. That cloud of blonde curls, her face still so sweet, yet strong at the same time. His heart felt like it had dropped to his stomach. She was watching him. He walked across the lot to her. In that moment, he could have sold his soul right there on the spot; apologized for everything, begged her to take him back, to try and fix everything -- if only she would smile at him. If she could forgive him, tell him it would be okay; but she only watched him, warily, and said,

“John.” Once he was in earshot. No smile, no warmth. Just a slight nod.

Mary was terrified of him. Sam’s fear had made her fearful as well. But she kept her composure. She met him calmly and tried not to tip her hand. The boys only had a twenty-minute lead, one stop for gas would be their undoing at this point, she had to stretch this out as much as she could.

John felt his heart breaking. She was never going to smile at him again, he wondered how he had gotten here. How had he lost his wife and both of his sons simply from trying to keep them safe? Wasn’t that what a husband and father was supposed to do? Protect his family? Keep them safe?

“Mary.” He returned her greeting, “I don’t suppose Sam is still here.”

“No, our sons aren’t here with me.”

“Is _he_ with Sam?”

“John…”

“Answer me, did Dean take Sam away?”

“Come with me, let’s go talk. Please, John.” She smiled at him then, trying to appease him, get him to talk to her. Buy the boys more time. Maybe even calm him down so when he did catch up to them, he was in a better place, emotionally.

Her smile… he’d wanted to see it again for so long, he allowed himself to follow her into the room.

The investigators were approaching the motel room on their right, the artifact was going harder now, flashing green and spinning so much it was making a high-pitched whining sound. Sam had poured out a lot of magic in that room, apparently. The team would have to clean it up.

John sat in a chair near the table. Mary sat on the edge of the bed.

“John, what is happening? Explain this to me… please.”

“I think you have probably had it explained to you already. I’m sure Sam told you what happened. You know what…” John grimaced, “you know…what Sam can do, what he is?”

“Yes, I do, now. I didn’t before though.”

“And that doesn’t terrify you? That our Son… that he can do those things? That he’s a…” John couldn’t even say _‘Sam is a witch’_ , couldn’t admit it out loud, “That he was born with magic?”

“No,” Mary slowly shook her head, amazed at her own feelings, “You know, John, now that I have had some time to think about it, it doesn’t even really surprise me. I mean, you should see Dean when he’s hunting…” John scoffed at Dean’s name, this wasn’t about Dean, this was about Sam. Mary ignored this and continued, “it’s eerie. The instincts he has, the attention to his surroundings, his reflexes. It’s like he knows a monster is coming, before the monster even knows. Like he was built specifically to do this from the moment he was conceived. I have never met a better hunter. Hunters three times his age with years of experience over him, defer to him automatically when they hunt with him. And on top of all of that, he is sweet, protective, kind and so smart.”

“What are you saying? Why does Dean matter here?”

“Because he’s our son too, what I’m saying is that our families have been steeped in this stuff for untold generations, we’ve bred for it. No one in your family hasn’t been a descendant of a founding family of The Men of Letters for centuries… and no one in my family tree wasn’t a hunter… ever. I’m saying that they are like this because of us, because of our ancestors… we made a perfect storm of genetics here. I’m saying Dean was built to hunt, and, clearly, Sam was designed to study and _use_ magic.”

John considered this. That it was inevitable that their offspring would become what they had; this had not occurred to him before. He could not see that it mattered though, he still needed to bring Sam in. It didn’t matter if this was the result of generations of two powerful bloodlines merging, Sam was a… Sam had inborn magic and John had to follow the protocols and take him in.

“I don’t know… what you say may be true, Mary, but it doesn’t stop what I have to do. I have to take Sam with me.”

“Why? Can’t you just wait for him to feel safe and contact you? He’s so scared of what you might do to him, he thinks you want to kill Dean.” John’s lack of reaction to this comment scared Mary, “Sam thinks you want to lock him up and study him and throw away the key. Can’t you just give him some time? He loves you, once he’s not panicking you know he’ll call you, maybe even come to talk to you.”

“No…” He hesitated

“What aren’t you telling me here, John?” He’d always had so much love for, and faith in, Sam. There was something more here, she was sure of it.

“He’s not safe, back in Olympia, there was some magic used.” John said. Mary recalled the story of how they had rescued her.

“Yes? Sam and Dean rescued me from a coven.”

John looked up at her…

“Was there anything else there besides them and the coven?”

“I… well I was pretty scrambled but when they told me what happened they didn’t mention anything but witches.”

“There was a demon there, either at the same time or right before or after you. It drained those witches dry. It destroyed them and left them mindless and unconscious. Either a demon or a very powerful borrower witch, or someone with an artifact. I’m worried it’s after them now. The traces of magic followed them for a few miles out of town. I need to get to Sam before that demonic power does.”

Mary froze, Sam had said he’d drained the witches. He hadn’t gone in to detail about how, but he’d seemed to think it was his magic that had done it. But he had said it felt different and happened before he even had a chance to think about it. Could he have assumed it was him when really…?

A bubble of panic burst in her mind. She never had paid the price on John’s resurrection. Was the demon after Sam, now? Was this the price for John’s life?

“Neither of them mentioned anything except the two borrower witches and an inborn that got away. Would Sam be able to tell if there was a demon around him? Dean would, but he was getting me out of the basement…”

“Sam would know what one looked like, and how to tell if someone was possessed, but I don’t think he’s ever been around one. Demons weren’t his area of study, and only the students who plan on specializing in demonology are exposed to actual demons.” John said.

“John, I know you want to keep them safe,”

“Sam.” He corrected her tersely, “I want to keep Sam safe.” John’s anger rose again, “Dean can go to hell, he turned his back on me. He defied me. He took Sam from me.”

Mary could feel the tenuous camaraderie she’d managed to cobble together crumbling. How could he hate Dean so much?

“John, Dean is your son, too. And he wants the same thing you do, to protect Sam, to keep him safe.” Mary said, she tried to keep her voice soft, but a sharp edge creeped in, she did not understand how John could not see that.

“IT’S NOT DEAN’S PLACE TO TAKE CARE OF SAM, IT’S MINE. DEAN IS NOT SAM’S FATHER, I AM!” He was yelling, his face was contorted with rage.

John rose from his chair and advanced on her. She stood to correct the tactical disadvantage of sitting on the bed, but she flinched a little at his rage and pressed back, the edge of the mattress hitting the backs of her knees.

“Tell me where they are going! Tell me when they left!”

“No. Not when you are this angry.” She understood now the fear Sam had, the terror that John would kill Dean.

John took one more step, he was a breath away from her now, and still she looked up at him with complete defiance. He may be taller than her, but they both knew she could wipe the floor with him with very little effort.

It was because John knew this that he’d come prepared. He took the small charm out of his pocket and palmed it. His right arm snaked around her waist and drew her close, his left hand pushing into her hair, bringing the charm to the back of her neck. She stiffened… what was he going to do to her?

“Then you leave me no choice.” He said, as he pressed the cold metal to her flesh.

“Wha…” she went limp, he held her tight around the waist to keep her from falling.

He spoke a brief incantation and there was a flash of crackling blue light, and she was gone. She could wait in a cell at the bunker until she felt like being useful, or he found Sam. He didn’t have time for her if she wouldn’t help him get his son back. John threw all her stuff into her duffel and took it to the sedan, locking it in the trunk. He waited impatiently for the investigators to be finished. When they were, he got them back on the road, and they sped off. The magic-tracker said there were traces heading east, so that was where they went.

+++

Mary had managed to buy the boys an hour of leeway, and Dean’s disregard for speed limits, and deftness at maneuvering around traffic, had gotten them about another hour of wiggle room. But since they had no way of knowing that, they had to go on the assumption that their lead was only twenty minutes. When they had to stop for gas, Sam would run in and grab handfuls of junk food and drinks, paying cash while Dean filled the car, they would both use the bathroom as fast as possible and then be back on the road five minutes later. They didn’t talk a lot. Sam asking Dean if he thought Mom would be okay, Dean reassuring him she could take care of herself. Later in the drive Dean reiterated the importance of not using magic at Bobby’s, Sam promised to be careful.

At one point, Sam turned to Dean and said,

“Hey, Dean… you know, I…” he stopped.

“Yah,” Dean cut him off, “I know.”

The sun was setting behind them as they entered the Sioux Falls city limits.

+++


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam meets Bobby for the first time, sort of.

Chapter Nineteen

Sioux Falls, South Dakota, 2005.

+++

Bobby would know the sound of that car anywhere. True, cars were how he made his living, but no other sound spread a smile across his face like the rumble of that Impala. Mary and Bobby had been friends since just after he’d become a hunter. She’d helped him learn the life. Almost as much as Rufus had. She was a good friend to have. And while he’d been careful about admitting it to anyone, he viewed Dean as the son he’d never wanted but, had found out he needed. And if any kid needed someone to step up and be his dad, Dean did.

Weirdly, when Mary had brought him that first time, the kid had relaxed around him on sight. He’d dropped his guard completely, smiled warmly and acted like he’d known Bobby for years. The first time Bobby had had to correct him, like a parent might have, he’d expected a surly teenager response of,

‘You’re not my dad!’

but Dean had just looked him square in the eye, smiled warmly and said,

“Yes, sir,” with complete respect, and never repeated his transgression.

It had also been a little weird that Dean knew his way around the house and auto yard right away. And that first night they’d spent here, Dean had gotten so sleepy, and walked up the stairs to go to the guest room. He’d not been shown where it was, and no one had even told him it was there.

When Bobby asked him where he was going, Dean had just said, through a yawn,

“To our room, I’m beat.”

Bobby had made up a cot for Dean in the living room, figuring Mary would take the guest room. Mary just shrugged and said,

“He’s had a rough day, he can have the bed.”

“What did he mean ‘our room’?”

“Like I said, rough day.” She had said and refocused on the T.V... Mary had noticed that Dean often said odd stuff as he was falling asleep and waking up. She didn’t know a single hunter who didn’t have nightmares and weird dreams though, so she never thought much of it.

Bobby often thought about the fact that after he’d gone upstairs, that night, to go to bed, he’d made some noise that had woken the boy up. He found himself confronted by a panicked, freckled face and crazy bedhead, as the thirteen-year-old had burst into his room and yelled,

“Bobby! Sammy is gone… something took Sammy!” Bobby figured the boy was sleep walking, having a nightmare, or something. He’d soothed him and walked him gently back to bed, telling him his brother was fine and not to worry. Bobby guessed Mary had been right, the kid had had a day. Anytime he remembered that, though, it always struck him odd that Dean had known where Bobby’s room was and had come to him instead of going to his mother.

Now as he heard that glorious motor roaring up the drive, he stepped out onto the porch to greet Mary and his boy.

He was surprised at what got out of the car.

Dean came up to him directly and grabbed him in a strong embrace. Smiling he said,

“Hey, Bobby.”

Bobby eyed the tall man who stood a few feet back, suspiciously. His instincts were telling him there was something weird about this guy.

Dean just grinned like a fool as he stepped back from Bobby, then grabbed the man by the arm and pulled him forward shoving him towards the older man.

“Bobby, this is Sammy! Sammy this is Bobby Singer!” Dean could barely contain the joy he felt, introducing Sam to Bobby felt like he was making the most wrong thing in this world right. Bobby was more their Dad in the Nightmare-world than John had ever been. He felt like he was giving his little brother and Bobby, both, the best gift ever. He was so happy in this moment.

Then Bobby splashed about half a flask of holy water in Sammy’s face. Dean frowned. Bobby should trust him better than that.

“Uh…” Sam took a handkerchief out and wiped his face dry. “Hello, Mr. Singer.” He extended his hand for Bobby to shake after putting his handkerchief back in his coat pocket.

“Bobby, what the hell? It’s Sammy. I wouldn’t bring a demon to your house, for fuck’s sake.”

“You can never be too careful, boy.” Bobby answered, declining to shake hands with Sam, but moving aside to let them in. Dean immediately bee-lined to the fridge and helped himself to a beer, grabbing one for Bobby and Sam as he did. Bobby sat back down at his desk, Dean placed Bobby’s beer on his desk then flopped himself down, unceremoniously, on the beat-up couch. Sam stood near the door, awkwardly; unsure where to sit or even stand.

Dean held out the other beer for Sam and motioned for him to come sit on the couch. Once Sam had sat down to Dean’s left, and Bobby was looking at them with that concerned and grouchy expression he had, Dean took a deep breath of satisfaction. He felt like he was home now.

Bobby continued to stare at the boys. Dean looked pleased as punch. Sam looked like he was going to explode from awkwardness alone. He waited. After a few minutes had gone by Bobby finally said.

“So, you gonna tell me where your Mom is, idjit? And while you’re at it, why you have your brother with you, and, also, what the hell is wrong with him?” He watched Dean’s grin fade.

“What?” Dean said, “What do you mean what’s wrong with him?”

“He’s all jittery and nervous.”

“Uhm, I can hear you…Sir. I’m right here.” Sam said. But Bobby was right, Sam was feeling a deep need to get rid of a lot of magic energy. And he could not stop himself from playing with his silver dollar. He didn’t even remember having pulled it out. Not channeling magic at the toy car in his pocket to drain some of it off was becoming physically painful.

Dean could see this was the case. After all these years, Sammy still got that same look on his face when the magic was too big. Only now, it really was too big and growing much too fast inside him. They just couldn’t risk it though.

“Sammy, calm down. It’s okay. Bobby and I aren’t going to let anything happen to you. Right Bobby?” Dean turned to Bobby.

Bobby could read his kid’s expressions like a book. He saw a little panic and a lot of worry, something was wrong with his little brother, and he needed Bobby’s help, so… Bobby would help. There was something up with Sam, something off about him. Bobby wasn’t sure Sam could be trusted, but he trusted Dean with his life.

“Right, we won’t let nothing get you, kid.” Bobby affirmed.

Dean looked at Sam, and for the first time he tried to make Sam hear his thoughts on purpose. He didn’t know if it would work, but he tried to just sort of think at him,

_“Can I tell Bobby what’s wrong? He can probably help.”_

Sam jumped a little, it was weird to have someone do that. No one ever had before. He tried so hard not to poke into people’s thoughts, not to intrude on private ground. But for some reason even when they had been kids, even when they had only been on the phone, Sam had always been tuned in to Dean’s basic, surface level thoughts and feelings. So, it didn’t surprise him that Dean had been able to make himself heard.

Sam thought about it and regarded Bobby with a thoughtful attitude, then turned to Dean and said, aloud,

“Go ahead.”

Bobby’s eyes narrowed as he witnessed this exchange.

“Bobby, I need you to stay calm and hear me out. I also need you to trust me that I would never bring anything malignant into your home.”

Bobby gave a slow thoughtful nod, and Dean continued

“Sam is being hunted down by John for the Men of Letters. He needs our help to hide out, and hopefully escape them.”

“I thought he was happy and liked working for them You always said it was what he was supposed to be doin’, just like you were meant to be hunting.” Bobby said, eyeing Sam suspiciously. He didn’t care for the Men of Letters, much. But he did respect they were on the same side of the fight, at least.

Sam’s head dipped down, and again he felt a wave of failure and shame wash over him. He _had_ wanted to be good at his work, he loved the research and the lore and his job. Only a week ago he had been so happy and fulfilled. And now he was sitting on a ratty couch, in the middle of nowhere while his failure was being explained to yet another person, someone he didn’t even know.

“He was happy… and he is good at it. But Sammy has a…” Dean was sensitive enough to the shift in Sam’s mood not to call it a ‘problem,’ “‘talent,’ and he always has, that he kind of slipped up and used in front of someone…”

“Talent?”

Dean took a deep breath and said the words everyone had been trying hard not to say Sammy’s whole life. It was shocking for Sam to hear it out loud and from Dean. But he supposed it was about time someone said it.

“Bobby, Sam’s a witch.”

Bobby leaned forward, he squinted his eyes, and said,

“What sort of witch?”

“He was born with it. When we were kids I helped him learn how to control it as much as I could, I didn’t want him to get in trouble, or for Dad to find out.”

“Does Mary know?”

“She does now.” Dean answered.

“Dean,” Bobby felt a surge of concern in his gut, “Where’s your Mom?”

Dean started to tell Bobby the entire story. He laid it all out, from stem to stern.  Bobby listened, without comment, to the truth of his surrogate son’s life, and this strange little brother he’d only ever heard, apparently, the most basic and highly edited, stories about. He didn’t like that Dean had not trusted him with the truth, it hurt his pride a little, but since Dean hadn’t even told Mary until yesterday, he supposed that softened the sting.

Dean was right, this kid did need all the help he could get.

+++

Mary woke up in a small room. There was a bed, chair, a table coming out of the wall, a sink and a commode. The walls were round, like she was in a big cylinder. There were no doors or windows. A small slot opened in the wall where the table was attached, and a tray with food was slid onto the table, then the slot closed.

There was no cutlery, they would not risk giving any hunter even plastic utensils. Hunters were well known for jury rigging their way out of tight spots. She did a quick inventory of her pockets to see if they’d found all her hidden weapons and tools. The only thing they’d missed was a straight pin stuck through the cording on her coat from the hem up. She left it there for now, once she felt it. No sense risking someone coming to remove it from her until she had a plan and something to use it for. The meal consisted of a sandwich and some chips, and a small bottle of water.

She took a dab of the mustard from the sandwich and made a tiny mark on the napkin. She decided this was most likely a lunch hour meal, so it was probably mid-day. So, she decided to call it noon, and assume that it was the same day John had taken her.

She’d make a small mark like this on that napkin with every meal. At least she could count a cycle of time this way. Eventually she hoped John would come and talk to her, or someone would. But for now, all she could do was wait.

+++

Dean felt weird recounting Real-World Sam’s life to Bobby.

In Nightmare-World, Bobby had been the first- and only- person five-year-old Dean had ever trusted to hold his little brother. Sammy had spent nights teething on the old man’s finger and falling asleep happily in his arms. Bobby had changed Sam’s diapers, made sure Sam had his vaccinations on time, and given Sammy his first, and possibly, most mentally scarring, embarrassing haircut.

Nightmare-World Sammy’s first word had been “Dean”, but his second had been “Bobby”. Of course, he’d pronounced them “Bean” and “Beebee”, but it was a thing, all the same.

 In the Nightmare-World, Bobby had made sure both knew there was more to life than monsters and hunting, indulging Sam’s appetite for books that showed him a world beyond, and teaching Dean to fix cars. Bobby had taught them both how to play baseball, ride bicycles, and fly kites. They went to school more in Sioux Falls than anywhere else, because whenever John left them there, Bobby made sure they did. In the Nightmare-World, they only had any sort of actual childhood because of Bobby Singer.

Dean knew it wasn’t fair to Real-World Bobby, but he still felt like Bobby should know Sam already, as well as he knew Dean. It made him incredibly sad that Sam had missed out on having Bobby, too.

But, he also realized that Real-World Sam had a Dad. Here, Sammy didn’t need Bobby the way Dean had. Stuff like this had never bothered him before, but it hurt something deep inside of Dean that Sam and Bobby didn’t know each other.

When he was done recounting the whole story, he waited for Bobby to respond. After a few moments of silent consideration Bobby turned to Sam and said,

“Boy, do you know how to make Aquarian Star Trap Sigils?”

“Yes, Mr. Singer. Of course.” Sam said, thinking this was a weird thing to respond to the story with. Also, Sam was more than a little surprised the old hunter knew what that was.

“Well go outside and make one at the end of the drive. Make it big, and for Pete’s sake, don’t step in it when you’re done.” Sam was a little offended by that, clearly Mr. Singer thought he was an idiot.

“Dean go with your brother, watch him and learn that sigil, I got a feeling it will come in handy for you to learn. I’mma make a few calls.”

Sam was already to the door when Dean stood up and said affably,

“’K, Bobby.”

Sam was very curious about Mr. Singer. Dean never seemed to push back, when Bobby said to do something, Dean happily did it. He couldn’t remember him ever doing that with Dad.

“Mr. Singer, may I please have some salt and paint?”

“There’s both in the bench storage box on the porch. And stop calling me Mr. Singer, boy! It’s creeping me out. Just call me Bobby.”

“Thank you, Mr… er, Bobby.” Sam smiled.

Bobby felt a wash of déjà vu when Sam smiled at him. He shuddered a little. It was a strong sensation, like he’d seem Sam smile a million times. It must be because it reminded him of Dean. But the feeling sort of broke something open inside of Bobby, and he suddenly felt like Sam was his to protect, just like Dean was. He watched them through the window for a few minutes. The feeling of déjà vu grew stronger, like he’d watched them messing around in his front yard before, like it should be a familiar sight to him. He couldn’t shake it.

Then he realized something and threw open the front door.

“And don’t you go stepping in it when it’s done, either, Dean! We don’t have time to redraw it every five minutes just cuz you’re an idjit!”

The door slammed shut.

Dean turned to Sam and said,

“What the hell? What is this thing you’re drawing?”

“It’s a trapping Sigil.” Sam had started to scrape a large circle that blocked off the entire drive, cutting it deep into the dirt with the tip of a shovel. There were piles of impassable cars and scrap either side of the drive, so it effectively blocked the entrance. He left an opening on the end that faced the house, closing that would be the last part, and he’d finish it from outside the circle.

“What does it trap?”

“Men of Letters.”

“Well then, why the fuck should I care if I step in it?” Dean asked.

“Because it works by blood. Even if you don’t think you are a Man of Letters, your blood does. It will trap me, you, Dad, whoever Dad has with him… Seriously, don’t step in it.”

Sam finished the trench that was shaped like the Aquarian Star, and then he went back over that and the circle with the paint. Then he filled it with salt and covered it with more dirt. Patting it down flat so it was hidden, then he stepped back and finished closing the exit he’d left himself. Before he covered the last bit, he took out a small penknife, and an alcohol wipe, from his pocket. He cleaned the blade, sliced open his palm and bled into the salt. He was reaching for his handkerchief when Dean handed him a folded bandana to wrap his hand with. He covered the last patch levelling the dirt out to conceal his work, then he then took a couple of rocks and marked the apex of the circle closest to the house in three spots. This way, he and Dean would know where not to step. Then he said a brief Latin incantation over it, there was a faint flare of golden light that faded away.

When he was done, he turned to Dean and said,

“Hey Dean, I really need to channel this energy off. I feel like it’s going to come out whether I like it or not. Do you think there someplace we can walk to from here that I could do it?”

“I dunno, I think it’d be like sending up a flare. Maybe Bobby has something in a book that can help you ease it without using it? We’ll ask.”

“Do you think, Mr. Singer could help me get a message to Emily? She hasn’t tried to call me, and we usually talk every day, so she must know I’m in trouble and that they might be watching her to find me. I don’t want to get her in any trouble or put Mr. Singer in danger though.”

“Bobby, Sam, call him Bobby.”

“Sorry, I don’t want to get Bobby in danger.”

Dean smiled, it was weird hearing someone not being used to talking about someone, when you were used to hearing them talking about that person.

“We’ll see.” Dean answered, he did not want Emily to get in trouble either. While Dean had never met her, he felt a respect and affection for her ever since she had helped get that message box to him. She’s saved, if not his life, his sanity. She’d put herself on the line to help Sammy, and that was how you earned Dean’s highest regard. If they could set her mind at ease and let her know Sam was alive, this was a service he felt bound to provide for her. If they could do it safely.

They walked back into the house.

All they could do now was wait.

+++

_In the darkness of the room, only the scrying bowl casting any light, she looked up and turned to her accomplice._

_“We’ve hit a snag I think,”_

_“I noticed.” He answered._

_“Do you think we need to step in again?”_

_“I don’t know there’s anything we can do about it, Dean and Bobby were so close to him, I don’t think we can stop this reality from bleeding into Bobby’s mind any more than we could stop Dean from seeing the truth when he sleeps. I think we’ll just have to leave it.”_

_“But what if we…”_

_“No,” he said with a forcefulness that stopped her cold, “We’ve already made the only changes we can dare to make. I never should have let you…”_

_“I know, but I had to try… it just happened too fast to stop.”_

_“Just remember why we are doing this.”_

_She nodded, and they both returned their attention to the scrying bowl._

+++


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John catches up.

Chapter Twenty

Sioux Falls, South Dakota. 2005

+++

Bobby did find something that might help Sam, but he could not be sure it wouldn’t put off a magical signature that might be detectable. It was a simple safety bind that would keep his powers bound so he couldn’t release them accidentally, but since Sam himself would have to work the spell, it was too risky to try right now. Sam, meanwhile, was impressed by Bobby’s collection of lore. The old hunter even had one or two things Sam hadn’t ever heard of.

They talked over the issue with contacting Emily. They even called Rufus to see where he was, maybe he was close enough to Salem that he could sneak a note to her somehow.

A plan that Rufus responded to with,

“Oh, so now we are in fucking junior high school? You tell Dean to kiss m…” Bobby hung up the call.

“So, Rufus is out.” Bobby surmised.

“Guess so,” Dean agreed.

“It doesn’t sound like Mr. Turner likes you very much.” Sam pointed out.

“He’d take a bullet for either one of us, boy,” Bobby came to the defense of his friend, then he sighed, “But he is not good at getting that sentiment across, you have a point, there.” He admitted.

Dean nodded in agreement with Bobby’s accurate assessment of Rufus, then said,

 “We can’t risk calling Emily from here or any of our phones. They’ll be able to find Sam.”

“I wish I’d thought to make us a set of messaging boxes.” Sam said, he never thought in his wildest dreams he wouldn’t be able to contact Emily.

“Yah, I know.”

“What’s a messaging box?”

Without thinking, both Dean and Sam reached into their right-hand front jeans’ pocket and took out the small box they each still carried. They did not seem to think it was odd that they were still carrying them, nor did it strike them as weird that they carried them in the same pocket. Bobby watched this and understood how connected these two boys really were. Bobby took Dean’s box, so he could examine it. Sam put his back in his pocket.

“Sammy made these for us… except for that really bad Christmas break when Sam was nine, we have talked every single day. And in the last thirteen years, this is how.”

Sam explained how they worked and what was required to make them. Bobby had everything he would need to make a set, except the something important to both Sam and Emily. Unfortunately, neither did Sam. He and Emily had always given each other books for gifts, and it had seemed impractical to carry around a library of hardcovers when you were running for your life. Plus, they’d still need someone to go to Salem and get it to her.

He wracked his brain, trying to remember if there was anything else he might have brought with him that had the sort of significance the spell needed. If only he could figure out how to make his feelings for her into a solid object; he chuckled at himself for thinking such a lovesick thought. Also, the amount of magic he’d have to channel to charge the boxes in the first place would be like lighting a signal fire on the roof. No, messaging boxes weren’t the answer this time.

“Mr. Sing… uh Bobby… sorry,” He wrote down Emily’s number and the location of her chapterhouse. “If we can’t let her know I’m okay now, can you promise me that if … I mean, if Dad catches me, will you…?

“I’ll let her know, son.” The gravity of the situation was not lost on any of them, Bobby had never met John Winchester. He’d be surprised if John Winchester even knew who he was. But you can tell a lot about a man by how his kids talk about him. “Hell, maybe she can bust in and rescue you.”

“Maybe she could… Bobby.” Sam felt more comfortable now that he had Bobby’s promise to let Emily know if something went wrong.

Sam’s head was starting to hurt, though,

“Is there someplace I can take a nap?”

“I’ll show you.” Dean led him up the stairs. Bobby heard them whispering, and he only caught one snippet,

‘ _This is our room, Sammy’_

Dean had referred to the guest room as “our room” most of the time as he grew up, especially when he was falling asleep or just waking up. Bobby had always thought he meant his and Mary’s, even though they took turns between there and the couch.

But there was a tone, and inflection he used, when he was showing it to his brother, that made him wonder if he hadn’t meant him and Sam’s room. Dean always seemed to have an uncanny way about him. Bobby wondered at a father messing a kid’s head up so bad that he’d made his own flesh and blood brother into a sort of imaginary friend.

+++

The team in the sedan signaled for the van to stop. Both vehicles pulled off to the side of the road. One of the investigators came up to John’s window,

“Did you pick something up?”

“Yes, sir, but it’s not magic. It’s blood.” When Men of Letters had their final initiation, a blood sample was taken. It was useful if you went missing because they could use it to track you. Bleeding was a frequent side effect of going missing, so this often proved a useful precaution. They’d been watching out for spilled blood as well as magic and they had finally gotten a hit.

“It’s up that side road, we should lead. Follow us, Sir.”

Eliot and John let the sedan pull ahead and then followed them.

+++

“So, I guess, Bobby is kind of like your Dad?” Sam asked as Dean was leaving the bedroom.

“Yah, and in the other world, he’s kind of like your Dad, too.”

“This is all so weird.” Sam’s face was contorted with pain from the headache, it was getting worse as Dean watched him. He had to figure out a way to get some relief from the build-up.

“Yah, yah it is. Get some rest Sammy.”

Dean walked out of the room and down the stairs. Bobby greeted him with,

“How’s he doin’?”

“Not great, we need to get him to a place to release this energy or he won’t be able to hold it in.”

“What will that be like?”

Dean looked Bobby straight in the eye and said,

“I don’t know Bobby… it’s never happened before.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.” Bobby admitted.

Dean’s head turned toward the open window behind the sofa…he said,

“And I don’t like the sound of that…”

Then Bobby heard what Dean had, two cars coming up the drive. Bobby grabbed a shotgun and went out on the porch with it swung behind him in case it was an actual customer.

The sedan hit the trap, there was a flash. Bright, and golden, the light scorched the dirt where it flared up, leaving the ground burnt and detailing the trap. The van screeched to a halt. The men in the sedan were stuck. Frozen in place inside the car, Sam hadn’t built a receiving trap, it had no where to send them. They’d be stuck there until someone broke the trap.

They hadn’t realized there would be two cars’ worth of Men of Letters. Sam had thought just building one would stop them. John moved from the van and grabbed a piece of scrap from the side of the road to break the sigil, he looked up as he heard an unmistakable sound.

A scruffy man had come out of the house and was standing a few feet away, he pumped a cartridge into the chamber of his shotgun, and advanced on them.

“Don’t move.” Bobby said.

John stopped. He looked at the man.

“Drop that.” Bobby commanded, and John complied, “Hands up where I can see ‘em.” John slowly raised his hands. Bobby was standing in the center of the sigil now.

“I’m just looking for my son, Sam. I know he’s been here.” John indicated the trap with a tilt of his head. “Is he still here?”

Bobby mentally kicked himself, they should have had Dean charge the trap… he’d forgotten they could track Sam’s blood.

+++

As soon as the trap had gone off and Bobby had left with the shotgun he affectionately referred to as “Plan B”, Dean had rushed back upstairs and roused Sam.

Sam winced after he opened his eyes… his head was pounding. Why was Dean shaking him… what was going on? Then he felt it. Dad was here.

He grabbed Dean’s arm,

“Has he seen you? Where’s Mr. Singer?”

“Bobby’s down there with a shotgun on them, there was a second car, Dad and one other guy didn’t hit the trap, but there’s four guys in it. I don’t think Dad saw me.” Dean was in tactical mode.

“Dean, seriously, you can’t let him see you. If he finds you… he’ll kill you.”

“He can try.” Dean said and pulled his arm out of Sam’s grasp. He went down the stairs with his gun ready. Sam ran after him.

“No!”

Dean burst out of the front door. He ran to get to Bobby,

“Dean! Stop!” Sam and Bobby both yelled at him, but Dean was hell bent on getting to Bobby and protecting Sam from his father; he did not stop in time.

His foot fell inside the trap and he was stuck.

“Dammit.” Bobby muttered.

“Well, it looks like we have a little stalemate here.” John said, looking at Sam.

Sam looked at Dean, frozen, with his gun at the ready, Bobby backing up to where Dean was, to protect him. John trapped on one side of the sigil, Sam on the other.

“Yes.” Said Sam. He could barely think; his head was hurting so bad. The magic wanted out, he was pulsing with it.

“Where’s Mom?” Sam demanded.

“She’s at the bunker, Sam, she’s safe. I’ll take you to her if you want. Just come with me.”

Sam appeared to be considering this, John continued,

“You’ll be safe too, Son. I won’t let them hurt you.” John was lying… Sam could feel it. He wanted to keep Sam safe, but he knew, once they had his son, he wouldn’t be able to stop them from doing anything to Sam.

“What about Dean, and Mr. Singer?”

“Mr. Singer will be fine, Son. He’s only defending his property, he hasn’t shot anyone or used anything he should not be using.” The pointed warning for Sam not to use his magic did not miss its mark.

“And Dean?” Sam said, “What are you going to do to Dean?”

“Sam, what makes you think I’d do anything to Dean? Dean doesn’t matter… just come with me.” John had unintentionally built a verbal trap for Sam; he could not tell John why he was worried about Dean’s fate without admitting in front of Men of Letters investigators to magic use. They’d know he could read minds. John would know.

“Sam, come with me… please. They won’t hurt you, they just want to figure out what you can do… they’ll help you.”

“No.”

“Sam, you have to come with me. Where else can you go? No matter what, we’ll find you. I won’t lose you, Sam… and Dean can’t protect you from us…”

“Maybe he can’t, but I can protect him from you.”

Sam quickly pushed one of the rocks marking the edge of the trap forward with his foot, breaking the trap, then he let the magic out, commanding it to protect the three of them. John rushed forward grabbing for Sam but slamming into a wall of energy instead. Dean took aim at his Father’s kneecap and fired off a round, but it slowed and stuck midair when it hit the energy wall.

“Get back to the house!” Bobby ordered. Dean retreated with Bobby, but Sam stood firm, the magic flowing out of him. His mind was full of the mantra _protect, protect, keep them safe_.  The relief of loosing the power surged through him and he felt stronger and more control of it than he ever had before. And there was more of it, it was not depleting, just flowing in an unending wave through his body.

John watched, in fascination and horror. Sam was doing this… his son was… making this happen, and with very little effort. Sam looked like it was pleasant, a relief even. Like it had been harder _not_ to use it.

It was more magical power than John had ever been confronted with, and it was as if Sam wasn’t even expending a drop of effort.

Eliot stepped forward and threw something, John saw that it was a magic-proof dagger, and he watched helplessly as it sailed through the air, piercing the shield and then lodging in Sam’s chest, just below his right shoulder, the shield dropped as Sam fell to the ground.

The dagger disrupted Sam’s magic, and drained him until he was weak and unconscious.

The last thing Sam saw as the darkness washed over him, was Dean rushing at John, and then, disappearing in a crackle of blue light, as the older man grabbed his hand. The last thing he heard was Bobby’s choked shout of,

 “You son of a bitch!”

Before Bobby could get back in range with ‘Plan B’, one of the men from the sedan hit Bobby with a dart-gun shot of a powerful sedative, dropping him instantly.

John put the charm back in his pocket and knelt over Sam. Two of the other men from the sedan came to Sam and started examining the wound. They put magic-binding cuffs on his wrists and started to work on the wound, removing the blade and applying pressure. Eliot was the expert in weaponry among them and had gauged his target very well, nothing major was hit. The blade was short, designed to penetrate and drain a target, not to kill. The cut was shallow, they’d be able to patch it up once they got him into the back of the van.

John was looking at his face; relaxed, unconscious, and pale from being drained. He was struck by how much like a little kid Sam still looked. His precious son, his baby, the only person in his family who had done what he wanted, who had walked the path set before him and walked it happily. He had been so proud of Sam.

But now, John knew.

Sam was a Monster.

+++


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worst Family Reunion Ever.

Chapter Twenty-One

Sioux Falls, South Dakota. 2005

+++

“Bobby, what the hell are you doing?” Rufus stood over him, “Why are you outside on the ground? Where’s Dean? I thought he was here with his brother? You get too drunk for them to get your fat ass inside?”

Bobby blinked groggily and watched Rufus’s face wavering in his field of view.

“Urgh.” Bobby managed to grunt.

“Good answer.” Rufus said, “Get up.”

Bobby tried to roll on his side to lever himself upright and that’s when Rufus saw the dart under his ear.

“What the hell… did someone shoot you with a tranq? What happened here?”

“Help me up and I’ll tell you, idjit!” Bobby finally slurred out.

Rufus extended a hand and hoisted his friend off the ground. He walked them both inside and pushed Bobby on to the couch. Then, he went in the kitchen and started the coffee maker going, before coming back with a first aid kit.

The dart had not gone in clean and Bobby had been lying in the dirt for a while, by the look of things. It looked like it would probably need cleaning and dressing once they took it out. Rufus got the first aid supplies he’d need ready, and then plucked the dart out of Bobby’s neck.

“So, what did I miss?” Rufus asked

Bobby told Rufus the whole story.

When he was done, he waited to see how Rufus would react, if he’d help or not. This was some big-time dangerous shit, Bobby knew that. Rufus wasn’t scared of big-time dangerous shit, but he might draw the line at helping Sam. He didn’t know Sam. He did know witches and he didn’t like them. But all Rufus said was,

“So how do we get your boy back?” Because Rufus had heard what was truly important to Bobby… that they’d taken Dean.

+++

Sam woke up, hours later. He was strapped to an ambulance gurney, in a vehicle that was clearly not an ambulance. The bed of the gurney was raised up to a seated position. His shoulder hurt, but that seemed to be fading even as he noticed it. His torso and legs were bound in rune covered iron. He could barely move. He would not be able to use any magic. He was positioned so that all he could see was the back doors of the van. He could feel that they were going fast. He wondered if his Dad was in the van with him; if he’d care that Sam was awake, or in pain, or scared.

Or if he felt the least bit of shame that he’d murdered Dean.

Sam knew, even if that flash of blue hadn’t killed his brother, there was no way John would’ve let him live.

Sam let this wash over him and cried. The pain of that was too intense and led to a new sensation. He was completely stifled from any sort of release. The magic built up inside of him. Replenishing itself from being drained with a vengeance, and it could not get out. All he could do, quite literally was cry. He did, for a little while. He just let it all out.

Then he remembered something Dean had once told him,

_‘you can do this, I know you can.’_

Dean had always had complete faith in him. Even when he slipped up, even when he failed. Dean hadn’t seen failure as an end, but as a misstep you could compensate for.

He calmed himself down, managed to wiggle his shoulders enough to wipe away the tears on his face with the cloth of his coat, then he tried to figure out how to compensate for his misstep.

At least he knew that if Mr. Singer… if Bobby, he corrected himself, had survived, Emily would know what was happening soon.

He knew Mom was still alive. Dad hadn’t been lying about that.

And, maybe, Dean had… Sam tamped down that thought, he had to proceed as if the worst had happened. He couldn’t count on Dean to protect him now, because Dad had probably…

Sam left that line of thinking, it wouldn’t help him save himself.

The only person who could keep Sam safe now, was Sam.

+++

_Dean knew as soon as he entered the bar and saw Sam and Jo that there was a demon in his little brother… Sam wouldn’t do any of this…_

+++

Mary gasped as something touched her face. Her eyes shot open and she instinctively reached for the gun under her pillow. Only, there was no gun under her pillow.

“Mary, it’s okay. It’s just me.” John said. He had Sam now, he could be calm now, and talk to her.

Mary’s brow creased, ‘just him’, the person that had kidnapped her and chased after his own sons. She sat up and leaned away from him. He was too close, sitting on the small bed next to her, she couldn’t stand it right now.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to talk to me about Sam”

“I told you, I’m not going to tell you where they are.”

“Oh, I know where they both are. Sam is here, few cells over. I found him.” He smiled. “He’s safe now.” He took a moment to watch her face, he didn’t want her to be scared, he just wanted to have a conversation with her. “But there’s a problem, something we found when we were running the initial tests, and I think you might know something about it.”

He reached for her hand, meaning to soothe her, he only wanted to talk and her fear of him was slicing him through the heart. She pulled her hand away. Again, he felt that confusion about how he’d gotten here, to this point, just from a desire to keep his family safe.

“So, I am asking you to be honest with me. Is there anything you want to tell me about Sam?”

This had to be about the demon, Mary knew. She hitched herself all the way up, sitting cross legged and pressing back against the wall.

“I saw it on your face when I was telling you about the demon at the coven. You may as well tell me what you did. Sam got hurt when we took him. The wound healed itself before we got here.”

“So? He has magic.” Mary did not see where he was going with this.

“Magic he could not use because we had him completely warded against using magic. He could not possibly have intentionally healed himself. His body regenerated on its own. When we ran his blood test, we found out where that demon magic at that coven house came from.” He paused watching her face as understanding spread across it. “So, you want to tell me now, what you did to him?”

“I didn’t do anything _to_ _him_ , John.” She met his eyes, and for the first time in years, she looked at him with love. It was like a punch to his lungs when she let a tear slip free, “I did something _for you_.” She brought her hands up to her face and tried to hide her tears from him.

“What? What did you do?” He turned from her and lifted himself off the edge of the bed. He brought the chair over and sat facing her. “Please, Mary, tell me.”

“He…he’d killed Mom and Dad, and he… killed you. And he promised to bring you back, he said he wouldn’t take my soul, it wasn’t some crossroads deal. He said all I had to do was not interrupt him when he came in ten years and no one would be hurt, everyone would be safe. He said he wasn’t going to kill anyone or want anyone’s soul. But he never came. I thought maybe he was The Magician at that party, that maybe he was trying to come and take Sam then, but he did not…and he never came back. I figured another hunter had gotten him, I never heard anyone else talking about anything like that. And he brought you back to me. I couldn’t live without you, John. I loved you, so much. Please understand why I did it. I had no idea he might want to hurt one of our kids. The only thought about the future I had in that moment, was that I couldn’t face it without you.” She reached out to him, now, “Please understand why I did it. Maybe it was selfish… but…”

John was stunned… he didn’t remember anything like this happening. He did remember Samuel pulling them out of the car as he was proposing, he remembered a lot of yelling and then… what did he remember after that? He remembered knowing that Samuel had died of a heart attack, but he couldn’t recall seeing it happen. He remembered being told Deanna had died, but he couldn’t place when or where he’d learned that. Samuel had left to come break up their tryst and while he was gone something too strong for Deanna to take alone had gotten her. His memory of the details seemed fuzzy at best, yet he had never questioned the lack of clarity surrounding the whole evening.

Mary had risked everything to save him. Now, Sam had demon blood in him, and it was taking over. Compared to his initiation sample, it was like a switch had flipped and the blood was taking over Sam’s system.

He could not honestly say he would not have taken that offer if their places had been reversed, and he realized she had no way of knowing what she was agreeing to. He also realized he’d be dead, and Sam wouldn’t even exist if she hadn’t done it. But still, he had no way to fix this; comforting her was beyond his ability right now. He only said,

“Thank you for telling me, Mary.” And left the room.

+++

John tapped the toe of his shoe against Dean’s hip. Dean was sprawled out, unconscious on the floor of the cell.

“Wake up, boy.” John commanded.

_Dad?_

“I said, wake up!” he kicked against him with more force. Dean gasped sharply and opened his eyes.

“M’up.” He muttered. Then he saw he was on the floor in some sort of small, round room…

“Get up.” John said.

Dean’s head was fuzzy, he was sort of straddling the line between the worlds. But John’s command made the well trained blunt little instrument side of him jump up and stand to attention without a second thought. Whatever that blue light had been had really scrambled his brain pan.

“Yes, Sir.” He slowly realized he was in the real world and looked around himself. Then at John. He relaxed his stance. The version of his father he wanted to please, was dead. He owed this man before him nothing.

“Where are we? Where’s Sam? Where’s mom?”

“Sam is safe. Mom’s safe. We are in the bunker.”

Dean regarded him with a look of contempt.

“Dean tell me what you know about Sam.”

“No.”

“Tell me…” John took a step towards him, “what you know,” another step, “about Sam.”

Dean stood his ground and said nothing, he could only stare at this man who would do these things to his own family. Dean felt repulsed by him.

“You have to tell me what you know about him.” John demanded.

“Why?”

“So that I can keep him safe.”

“This is how you keep your family safe? Locking them up? Chasing them, attacking them? What the hell is wrong with you?”

John stepped forward and shocked them both by landing a solid punch on Dean’s chin.

Dean rubbed his jaw, then raised an eyebrow and said,

“Really?”

Dean’s fist found John’s eye before he even saw it coming.

“Do you want to fight, John? Because I can fight, if that’s what you want.”

John winced and felt his eye, it felt hot, and tender. He was going to have a black eye.

“Don’t you care that your brother is in danger?”

Dean felt a roaring surge of rage at this. John had never understood that was _all_ Dean had _ever_ cared about.

“He’s in danger from you! You did this to him!”

John rushed forward, Slamming Dean against the wall with his arm across Dean’s throat.

“I did this? I did this?... you think he’s in danger from me? Because of me?”

Dean broke his hold with a well-placed kick to John’s knee. John Stumbled back.

“Your mother did this… he’s in danger because of her, a Demon is after Sam because of her.” John’s anger was making him careless. “Now, you tell me what you know, you tell me everything about Sam, what he can do, what you’ve seen… everything.”

“No, Sir.” Dean smirked, he now realized he had the upper hand here. His father was sloppy in his rage, he wanted information. Dean was calm in his anger, and he could keep his mouth shut. Those things gave him the power here.

The only thing he could do to hurt Dean was to hurt Sammy, and John would never do that.

John turned and placed his thumb on the wall, across the room. The wall section next to him shimmered and he walked out, the opening solidifying behind him.

+++

John stood outside of Sam’s cell. He gathered his thoughts before entering. His eye socket was pounding with his pulse. He winced as he touched it to see how bad it hurt. He wasn’t really sure what to say to his son.

He wasn’t sure if Sam even understood what was happening to him.

When he entered Sam didn’t even look at him. He was on the bed, sitting with his back against the wall. His knees hitched up with his arms around them. There was a cuff on either wrist to block him from working any magic. One blocked inborn and the other blocked demonic. Sam, of course, knew what the runes and sigils on the warding cuffs meant exactly. He was confused about the demonic one. Had they not figured out he was making his own magic? Were they just trying to be safe?

“Sam,” John sat in the chair, he tried to keep his voice even and calm. Sam looked a strange mixture of terrified and defeated. John needed to make him understand this was for his own good, “Son, please, look at me. Talk to me.”

Sam looked up. He gasped a little at the rapidly spreading bruise on John’s face. That hadn’t been there when they had walked him in from the van. Suddenly he knew… he knew Dean wasn’t dead. Dean had sent a message with his fist in more ways than one.

Before he give any thought to what it would mean for him he said,

“Dad, I’ll stay here, I’ll do whatever you want, do any testing you need to put me through… whatever, I won’t complain, just let Mom and Dean go safe, please? This was all me, I asked for their help, please let them go. They didn’t take me or convince me to come with them, they only helped because I asked.”

John contemplated Sam’s outburst. He sat forward a little and said,

“Sam, something is wrong with you.”

“I know, I know, Dad. But I was like this when I was born… I didn’t ask for it or do anything. I’ve always been like this. I tried to control it, I really did. I only ever wanted to make you proud and be a Man of Letters. Please, you must believe me. Please, Dad, let Mom and Dean go. It’s me you want, and I’ll do whatever you say if only you’ll promise to let them go.”

“No, Sam… it’s not the magic you were born with that’s the problem here.” It had been, of course, until the blood test results had come back. Now the issues were much worse.

“What?” Sam didn’t understand.

“Sam, there’s a demon involved; there’s demon blood taking over your system. We don’t really know how, or why, but we think whatever did this to you is going to come for you. We’ll just keep you safe here, so the demon can’t get you.”

“Wha…what?!?!? What are you talking about? That makes no sense… the magic in me isn’t from demons, Dad… it’s from me… it’s part of me, it’s always been there. I’ve never even seen a demon.” Sam was incredulous.

“Well, it seems your Mom made a deal and you get to be her payment.” John bitterly spat out.

“What do you mean? I don’t understand.” Mom wouldn’t do that to him. John had to be lying.

“I’ll let them go, Sam. You’ll stay. You won’t refuse to do as your told?”

“I already said I’d do whatever you want if you let them go.” Sam replied.

John turned to leave, and Sam stopped him,

“Dad,”

“Yes?”

“I didn’t want any of this, I only ever wanted to be a Man of Letters and make you proud of me. Please, don’t hate me.” _Don’t think I’m a monster._

“I know, Sam. I don’t hate you.” _I’m just terrified of you._

+++


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tries to find Sam

Chapter Twenty-Two

+++

John had kept his word. Dean and Mary found themselves back at Bobby’s an hour after Sam had secured their freedom. John had made it clear it would be useless for them to come back.

“Sam won’t be kept here. You won’t find him. I can promise you he’ll be safe. But remember he bought your freedom by promising not to fight us. He’s choosing this to save you.”

“John,” Mary had said, “You can stop all of this… you can fix it.”

“It doesn’t need fixing. It’s fixed. Sam is safe.”

And then they were in Bobby’s front yard.

Dean had rushed straight into Bobby’s living room, right past where Rufus and Bobby were sitting. Bobby drinking more coffee, Rufus half-through a bottle of whiskey.

Dean grabbed a scrap of paper and the messaging box he’d left on Bobby’s desk and ran up to their room.

Quickly he wrote,

_“We’re back at Bobby’s, we’re safe. We’ll come get you no matter what. Try to hang on, don’t let them make you do anything.”_

 He folded it up and tucked it into the box. He heard the familiar paper-airplane-hitting-a-wall sound as he flipped it over.

He felt a rush of relief wash through him. The message had sent. Sammy was still alive.

He walked back downstairs. Mary was telling Bobby and Rufus what had happened.

“Sam is still alive… the message box worked.”

Mary’s eyes closed in relief.

“Well, that’s something at least.” Bobby said.

“Dean…” Mary’s eyes were full of worry and tears, “You… you keep…sending…” then she lost control of it and started crying. She collapsed on the couch between Rufus and Bobby, leaning against Bobby while both men looked supremely uncomfortable; Rufus awkwardly patted her shoulder. Neither of them had ever seen Mary cry before.

“Everyday, Mom.” Dean promised.

+++

They had started out moving him from the bunker. They kept the spelled warding cuffs on him and kept him blindfolded for the move. When he got to his new prison, it was a house. They warded him into it, much like Mr. Faye’s had been, he was trapped here now. But they did not remove his cuffs. His right wrist was surrounded in silver and kept him from using the demon magic they claimed he had. His left wrist was wrapped in iron, binding his own magic. The testing seemed simple enough, they just took one or the other off and asked him to do things using the magic. He still didn’t believe them about the demon stuff, and he had no knowledge or practice calling it forth. They told him he’d used it before and reminded him of his promise to do as he was told. But he couldn’t figure out what they meant. Finally, he snapped at the person in charge of the testing,

“Why do you keep saying I’ve used demonic magic? When? I don’t even know what you are talking about.”

“At that coven house, you drained those witches. That was all demonic energy.”

“I… didn’t, that just happened. I didn’t even think about it. It just came out and did that. You have to believe me, I don’t know how to make it do anything.”

The first time they moved him, they woke him up in the middle of the night and hustled him down to a waiting van. By his count, they had only been in that first house about three weeks. They took him on a long drive, there was a lot of turning, it felt like they were trying to make sure no one was following them.

They were only in the second house for one week.

They were in the third house for about a month and a half, but Sam thought maybe the third house was in Canada. He didn’t recognize a lot of the packaging on the food in the kitchen, everything was labeled in English and French, and the milk was in bags.

The next house they were in for about three months, and this time he knew they must be in Mexico. The food labels were all in Spanish.

The next time they moved him, he over heard a snippet of careless conversation from some of the handlers.

“How do they keep finding him?”

“I dunno, but John’s other kid scares me way worse than this one does.”

Sam smiled under the hood that kept him blinded during these moves. Dean was alive still.

After only a week at that new house, his move involved a flight. A long one.

+++

Dean’s phone lit up with another text from Emily.

It just said

_“There is no place I’d rather be.”_

He pulled up his web browser and searched

“Lyric: There is no place I’d rather be”

“Hawaii…” he said to Bobby and Mary, after a few more minutes of searching, he said “Kauai, I think?”

Despite some misgivings about getting on an airplane, they were in Kauai two days later.

+++

This cat and mouse continued for almost a year.  They would move Sam; Dean would show up; they’d move Sam. Once he even got as far as breaking the warding on one of the houses, only to find they must have already moved him, it looked like they had left minutes before he’d arrived.

Until one day, when Emily’s message just said,

_“He’s a real nowhere man”_

Dean panicked… what the hell did that mean? He almost broke their protocol and texted back, demanding an answer.

 _“calling you in five.”_ Flashed up, as the next message, from an unknown number.

Dean nervously tried the message box, when he heard that sweet, crumpled paper sound he started breathing again. He knew if Sam ever got his box back it might not open at all from being jammed full of messages. But he didn’t care, at least he could know Sam was alive.

When his phone rang, Emily said,

“He is no longer with the Men of Letters.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean at some point last night Sam Winchester disappeared from Men of Letters property, I can’t track him anymore…”

Dean heard the fear in her voice and said,

“I just now tried the message box, it worked, he’s still alive. I’ll find him, Emily. I promise.”

“You better, I’d hate to have to punch you in the face when we actually meet for the first time.” Then she hung up on him and flung herself on her bed and had a good long cry.

+++

The previous evening, at Sam’s most recent prison.

They had finally decided to test the theory that the demon magic only worked against demons. If they were right, then Sam could be very useful. He could be a weapon for them.

They had him locked in the testing room, his silver cuff removed.

A door opened and a young man, about Sam’s age, was pushed into the room. Sam knew right away this man was a borrower witch. Cautiously he said,

“Hello.”

Sam wasn’t really sure what they wanted him to do, but the borrower witch returned the greeting.

“Hi.” He looked nervous and scared. Sam understood then that this wasn’t someone who was aware of what was going on. He was as confused as Sam was, and more. Sam could tell he didn’t know where he was or how he had gotten here.

The speaker mounted on the wall made a hiss of static and the voice of the man running the tests, Mr. Cranston, came through.

“Drain his power, Sam.”

The man looked at the speaker, then at Sam, in fear.

“No, please. Look I’m sorry about the thing at the mall, I slipped up…but I didn’t hurt anyone. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone.”

Sam sat down on the floor. He motioned to the man to do the same. He did.

“Why would you do this to yourself?” Sam inquired, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Why would you choose to align yourself to a demon for magic?”

“Who wouldn’t? This power, I mean I can do anything…”

Sam was stunned that someone would try to get the thing that had ruined his life. That someone would ask to have magic.

“SAM! Do it!” The speaker barked

“What do they want you to do to me?” the man asked.

“They want me to drain off all your demonic power, they think I can. I don’t know how to do it though.” Sam noticed then that they had put a silver cuff on the guy. Basically, he was no threat and terrified. He probably would not leave here alive no matter what Sam did. Even if Sam knew how to make that draining flash of power happen at will, he’d still not do it.

“What are they going to do to me if you don’t?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think it’ll be good.”

“Are you one of them?” He asked.

“I was.” Sam said with sadness. “Now I am this.”

“If you drain me, do you think they will let me go?”

“Doesn’t matter, the only time it happened it just happened... I don’t know how to do it on purpose.”

“But you could take it all and save me… if I have no demon magic, maybe they’ll let me go…” the man became agitated and stood up.

“I don’t think they will.”

“Well they won’t let me go with it, that’s for sure. My only chance is not to be a threat anymore, do it… drain it off, I want to go home…” The man rushed toward Sam hands out to grab at him, he was in a full panic now.

Sam flinched back a little, but then he felt it. The thing in his blood, it leapt forward and devoured the energy the man had. He dropped to the floor. Sam stared at him, stunned. Then he pushed himself over to the man to check his pulse.

_Please let him be alive… don’t be dead… don’t be dead_

 He had a pulse, Sam found it with relief. The man’s eyes flickered, he was drifting in and out of consciousness. Before they could come to remove him, Sam leaned in close and whispered.

“If they do let you go, my name is Sam Winchester, my family is looking for me, if you figure out where we are, call Singer Salvage in Sioux Falls, South Dakota and ask for Dean.”

The door to the testing room slid open and two men in lab coats came to remove the ex-witch. Sam did not think they would let the man go, but it was worth a try.

Once the man was gone, Sam waited for them to come and get him.

The door opened again, and a warded box was brought in. The man tapped the lock and quickly backed out of the room, locking the door behind him. The lock on the box clicked a few times and released. A cloud of black smoke came out.

They had released a demon into the room with him. It came straight at him, sensing the possibility of a host, and then it was gone. There was a flash and the not-his-magic surged out of him again. Taking the demon into itself, making Sam’s very skin tingle with the power. It felt… weird, wrong, and good, all at once.

The iron cuff felt itchy and strange suddenly. He looked at his wrist. The cuff had blooms of rust spreading through it, then it corroded through and fell off his wrist. Sam was unfettered now and could use the magic he could control, his mind started racing with possibilities.

The speaker came to life and Cranston’s voice said something Sam couldn’t make sense of.

Then there was a new voice, but this voice was in the room with him, somehow. It just said,

“Ah, there you are, boy. Thought I’d lost you!” there was a chuckle and then nothing, just blackness.

+++

“They took him. Are you happy now? I will never stop blaming you for this!” John roared into the phone.

Mary had answered the call on her cellphone, only to be met by this vitriol.

“John what do you mean, who took him? Where are you? Where was he? What happened?”

“The demon came and took him. The room is covered in sulfur and he’s gone. YOU DID THIS! You made it impossible for me to keep him safe… to keep my family safe.”

Mary bristled.

“I made it possible for you to live and have a family!” She ended the call.

In that moment, she missed the thorough satisfaction that used to come from slamming down a heavy Bakelite receiver into the cradle of a phone, that solid slam and the resonation of the bell as it jangled from the impact of anger. That really got your point across.

+++

_“See if they got any pie.”_

_Sam rolled his eyes and started walking to the tiny roadside cafe._

_Dean yelled after him,_

_“Bring me some pie!”_

_Only a minute later, Sam was gone, and Dean was panicking after finding the dead patrons and the sulfur on the window frame of the back exit._

+++

Mary shook Dean trying to wake him.

“Dean… wake up… your father called me.”

Dean was groggy… something important was happening… _he’d found Sam, but he was too late, that kid in the camo..._

“Dean, demons took Sam, that’s why he’s gone. Try to send him a message.” Once Dean was awake and sitting and seemed to have understood her words, he reached for the box and a pad.

Mary left the room. When Dean had explained the boxes to her, she’d been a little hurt he hadn’t told her about them before, but she understood. She waited until she heard him call out.

“He’s still alive!”

Nightmare-World Dean had figured out where his Sam had been taken… the coincidence was too eerie. He looked at Mary and said,

“I think I know where he might be.”

“How?”

“I’ll explain later, but I think he might be in Cold Oak, South Dakota.”

+++

_He sighed and leaned back away from the glowing scene of the scrying bowl._

_“After all this, we are still heading down the same path.”_

_She looked up at him._

_“There’s still hope, still hundreds of tiny ripples that might affect the outcome…” she tried to soothe him._

_“I suppose…”_

_“Are you sure we cannot step in again?”_

_“No, it’s too risky. And the changes we’ve already made… if those can’t steer them away from this cliff, anything else we do will be useless.”_

_He felt like it might be nice to be able to cry._

_She gently patted his hand in sympathy._

+++


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End

Chapter Twenty-Three

Cold Oak, South Dakota 2007

+++

Sam tried to reach out with his own magic to Dean.

When the Men of Letters had searched him when he was taken to the bunker, they’d removed the messaging box. John saw it and knew what it was. He’d remembered, so long ago, trying to figure out a way to make a set for him and Mary. Like father like son, he mused. Except his son was a witch and could actually make them.

“I suppose Dean has the mate to this.” He’d been angry, then he’d said, “Well I guess you did only promise not to talk to him on the phone. You really got one over on your old man, Sam.”

Sam had felt a little ashamed, he knew he’d broken the spirit if not the letter of the promise. He’d known the whole time. But he hadn’t cared; he only even cared at that moment, because he had been caught.

John had taken the box away, to where, Sam had no idea. He was sure he’d never see it again.

So now, out here in this ghost town, he tried to send a tendril of his magic to Dean. There seemed to be some sort of boundary it wouldn’t cross, though.

The other people who were also trapped here, all seemed to have demonic blood too. They had all talked about strange things they could do. One of the girls was familiar to him and when she admitted that her touch could kill, Sam realized she was the girl in his first vision. Her name was Lily.

She was the first one that died.

+++

Dean, Mary and Bobby got everything packed into the Impala and Bobby’s truck. They were bringing as much stuff to fight with as they could think of. They only knew for sure there would be demons, but they didn’t know if there would also be Men of Letters, or a need to subdue Sam for some reason. They wanted to be prepared. When Rufus got back from town with some more supplies, they got into the vehicles and set off.

On the drive Mary asked Dean how he knew where Sam was.

Dean allowed himself to contemplate the relief it might be to finally tell his mom about the Nightmare-World. To have someone else know. Telling Sam had been a huge weight off his shoulders. Maybe telling Mom would help too. But in the end, he found he just couldn’t. He couldn’t tell her about that first nightmare… it was too horrible. And she’d want to know why she wasn’t there in the Nightmare-World. He couldn’t do that to her. So, in the end, he just said,

“I don’t think I can explain it. I think maybe Sam knows where he is and somehow found a way to show me.” That’s how it’d happened in the nightmares, so it wasn’t a complete lie.

+++

“Okay,” the demon said, “You caught me in a charitable mood, I’ll show you.”

Sam watched the scene unfolding before him with revulsion. They were in his room at home, the demon bent over his crib. Blood flowing from the demon’s wrist and into the baby’s mouth.

The baby’s mouth.

His mouth.

Sam’s mouth.

Sam felt a wave of nausea.

“Imagine my extreme joy to find out one of my children already had his own magic… this would make you even better, stronger. You were my favorite as soon as I went to collect on your mom’s deal. You would be able to take out demons, command them with ease to lead the army, and do all the other fun things we have planned for you, and we have so many fun plans for you, Sam.” An unsettling smile spread across the demon’s face, his yellow eyes glittering with anticipation, “On top of all the yummy demon blood I gave you, you were brimming with your own magic. You were made for this and perfect. We could not have asked for a better instrument for our plans. It was like you were made to order and handed to us on a golden platter.”

The demon before them disappeared, and the room dissolved.

Sam woke with a start, as one of the other ‘kids’, Jake, shook him awake.

+++

Dean was having a really hard time remembering where he was. The worlds were blending together. Things had been similar, even exact between them before, but not on this scale. Fear was clawing at his gut, he’d already seen how this ended in the Nightmare-World. Sam was dying in his arms. He’d failed in the one thing that was most important to him. He couldn’t fail here, too.

The road had been getting worse for the last mile, and eventually it became clear they were going to have to get out and walk the rest of the way. They weren’t too far though, so they grabbed a selection of weapons and started towards the town.

Except for Mary and Rufus’s presence, this was exactly what had happened before. Panic rose and spurred him on. He started running, the rest trying to keep up with him, he had to get there faster than he had in the Nightmare-World… he had to save Sam.

He was rounding a corner when he saw the moonlight hitting off Sam’s back. Dean called out to him. Sam turned and came towards him, calling back…

_Then the kid in the camos on the ground rose up with a knife and ran after Sam, the knife plunging into Sam’s back and savagely cracking through his spinal cord…_

For a moment Dean couldn’t move. Where was he? Was this really happening again? Bobby caught up with him first, his presence bringing Dean back to himself. They both ran forward. Bobby chased off after Sam’s attacker. Dean grabbed Sam as he fell.

It was the same… he hadn’t gotten there in time, and now Real-World Sam was going to die, too.

+++

_“We’ve failed. He’ll sell his soul now… he’ll go to hell and so will Sam… nothing we did worked.” He said._

_“He might not, even if the idea occurs to him from the ‘nightmares.’ He’s had a different life, he might be able to just mourn and move on. Maybe he can just let Sam go.” She felt a sadness wash over her; a feeling that she didn’t want to examine too closely._

_“No, he won’t. I don’t think there’s a change we could make or a reality we could manufacture for them that would stop him from caring about Sam enough to do that...”_

_“But now he thinks more of himself, maybe he’ll see it’s suicidal, maybe he will hold himself as worthy of living, even if it hurts.”_

_The realization that they were both giving up ever knowing either of them, to do this, had been a tangible presence in the room the entire time they’d been tending the spells, and now he said…_

_“So, we sacrifice ourselves, out of love, to stop Dean from doing the same? Meanwhile this other boy will end up starting the apocalypse anyway, and we are one vessel down. Michael can still get to Dean and then… no,” he stopped and sighed, “In the end we didn’t fix anything. We just made it worse, only differently so. Now, we are missing the person who saves us all in the end.”_

_The unspoken truth that they would also be missing someone they loved, filled the room._

_“What do we do, then?” she whispered._

_He thought for a moment, but she knew what he was going to say, and took the ingredients which would have bound the new world into place, in her hands. She began to sort through the pile, and carefully replace items into jars, boxes, and paper twists._

_“We put it all back.”_

+++

Lebanon, Kansas. 1958

_Cass entered the library at The Bunker, only moments after he’d left it the first time, and slid the paper with the banishing ritual out of the book. He tucked it into his pocket, sadness and failure washing through him, he’d had such high hopes that this would make everything better._

_Sam had found the ritual after the knights of hell were all dead, and it no longer mattered. Finding it had given Cass the idea to try this._

+++

Lawrence, Kansas. 1983

_Then, he went and visited Mary’s bedside, turning the monitor back up. She’d have a chance to live again, and though he felt sad that she would miss so much of her sons’ lives, he knew this was only a temporary death for her._

_He did give in to temptation and visited the boys’ rooms this time. Sam smiled and gurgled happily at him; he smiled back. Cass got the eerie sensation that Sam could see his wings. The baby looked fascinated by them._

_Dean was asleep, his head pressed into his pillow. Cass knew better than to get too close. Dean would awaken and that would be a mess he couldn’t clean up. It was enough just to peek in on him, to watch over him for just a moment._

_Then he left and went back to the room at Rowena’s house where they had sequestered themselves to work these changes._

_She was almost done removing the evidence of their attempt to fix everything._

_“Maybe we just picked the wrong points to change.” She posited. “After all there must be something we could have changed that would have led elsewhere. Everything has a lynchpin.”_

_“Maybe,” Cass thought for a moment, “but I think it’s possible this ‘lynchpin’ is too old and too large.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“I think this might be one of those things that has to happen. That is always going to happen.” He sighed heavily, “We never should have tried.”_

_“We had to try.”_

_“Why? We wasted time, grace, and ingredients.”_

_“You know why.” Rowena tutted at him._

_He looked at her and nodded. He did know._

_The shielding she had built around the room, to keep the changes from taking effect until they saw whether they would work or not, was waved away with her hand and a brief smattering of Gaelic._

_“Thank you for helping me try, Rowena.”_

_She just nodded in acknowledgement, then Cass left._

_Cass still felt like being able to cry would be helpful right now._

_Rowena, once Cass was gone, curled up on her sofa and did exactly that._

+++

Somewhere, deep in the storage rooms of The Bunker, there is a magic proof case.

Inside this case is a small mahogany box with a sliding lid.

The lid is warped and almost cracking apart from the pressure of hundreds of folded paper notes pressing on it from the inside.

+++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note:  
> I know that people get in massive arguments over the spelling of Castiel's nickname. 
> 
> I spell it C-A-S-S because some screen reader programs for the visually impaired pronounce "C-A-S" and "Kah". 
> 
> So I am sorry if it annoys you to see it spelled "Cass" but I want to make sure that people using screen readers get the correct pronunciation.


End file.
